Between Lenin and Bandera: Decommunization and Multivocality in (Post)Euromaidan Ukraine

Home , AutoMaidan, Bloodlands, Bohdan Stupka, Coat of arms of Ukraine, Decommunization, Eugenia Tymoshenko

Faculty of Social Sciences University of Helsinki

Between Lenin and Bandera: Decommunization and Multivocality in (post)Euromaidan Ukraine

Anna Kutkina

ACADEMIC DISSERTATION

To be publicly discussed, by due permission of the Faculty of Social Sciences of the University of Helsinki, in Porthania Suomen Laki-sale (Yliopistonkatu 3), on April 4, 2020, at 12 pm.

Helsinki 2020 Publications of the Faculty of Social Sciences 141 (2020) Political Science

Between Lenin and Bandera: Decommunization and Multivocality in (post)Euromaidan Ukraine © Anna Kutkina Cover illustration: Aleksei Kislov and Julien Milan. “The Revival.” The image is public in the form of graffiti, Kyiv, Ukraine.

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Unigrafia Helsinki 2020

Abstract

This dissertation is a study of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine as a socio-political and cultural space which undergoes a multilayered process of struggle over meanings. As a physical and political domain that emerged in a see-saw between Europe and Russia, the Euromaidan revolution was a unified protest that exposed multiple, at times contradictory beliefs: dreams of a just Europe, ultra-nationalist, Far-Right values, demands for prompt democratic transformation, hatred of authoritarian, corrupt government and naming of the ‘enemies’ or the ‘other.’ This research is a critical analysis of the articulation of such socio-political multivocality of the Ukrainian population, which found its physical and discursive expression within the process of post-2013 decommunization.

This dissertation examines the evolution of post-Euromaidan de-Sovietization beyond the framework of passing and implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws. I address the process of decommunization as a political and cultural phenomenon at both the regional and national level, where the ordinary citizens and the government are involved in diverse forms of the meaning-making (e.g. political poster exhibitions, preservation or demolition of communist symbols, or renaming of the streets). I examine the process of de-Sovietization of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine as both fragmented and unified in its multivocality, where old symbols and/or judicial structures such as the statues, posters or laws are being replaced by new physical (e.g. architectural) and narrative formations.

This dissertation consists of nine chapters, and is an outcome of 4.5 years of fieldwork conducted in western, central, southern, northern and eastern regions of Ukraine. It is an ethnographic study of data that includes 64 interviews, images and videos with the protestors, civic activists, members of non-governmental organizations, politicians, soldiers, artists, and ordinary citizens. To provide comprehensive understanding of different types of material, the method of ‘layered textual analysis’ (Covert 2014) is used. It involves structural analysis of the narratives present in the interview text, visual analysis of the photos, and guiding questions related to the content and relationship of the photos, objects and narratives. In this work, I use the concept of narrative to create a broader framework for categorization of the collected data- - to analyze, for instance, interviews, images, or videos of the protest or toppling of the communist statues as means of construction of the discursive narratives at both the grassroots and state level.

As means of examining the empirical data, this work draws theoretical parallels between theory of hegemony (Laclau and Mouffe 1985; Cox 2019; Modelski 1991; Thompson 2015), Mikhail Bakhtin’s (1981) theory of heteroglossia and monologism, and Benedict Anderson’s (1983) idea of the imagined communities. The primary objective of bridging these theories is to examine multivocality in decommunization as both the process and outcome of articulation of

iii polyglossic or multi-voiced practices of civic dialogical interaction. A broader purpose of ‘hegemonic’ reading of the collected data is to explore (post)Euromaidan decommunization as a social phenomenon which is mediated through discourse, where political meanings are articulated, contested, and, as a whole, never permanently fixed.

As that of discourse analysis theory, the aim of this work is not to discover which groups exist within the society, or to unravel particular formations that object or support the process of decommunization. The primary objective of this research is to examine multiple mechanisms of selection of the discursive and physical elements that were included (or erased) from the physical space of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine (2013-2018), as well as to identify political and cultural means of the citizens’ and ruling elites’ consolidation of a politically and culturally diverse state.

Acknowledgements

This research is a journey that started with a dream—a dream of becoming a ‘Doctor.’ As simple as that. It grew in the head of an immigrant girl who moved to Canada from Ukraine at the age of 16 and who felt blessed. Grateful to experience both ‘worlds’—that of the Gymnasium 191 in Kyiv where a uniform was an absolute must, and that of New Westminster Secondary School, BC—the space of jeans, skateboards, and mohawks. And yes, it was both a revelation and a revolution—to realize that knowledge can be ‘dressed’ in a uniform and diversity, and remain equally powerful. This dissertation is an outcome of years of my personal quest for the possibility of mingling the two—as deep in my heart I still carry a print of wearing green school uniform while striving to get my head shaved or dyed blue, purple, yellow, or all colors at once. This research has given me an opportunity to live my dream of getting to know people better, and eventually, to know and understand myself. At least to try to.

As any PhD, this one is both unique and cliché, and came with the following: enormous joy, moments of deadlock and despair, tears, laughter, tears and laughter combined, sleepless nights and late mornings, ecstasy of breaking through and finally getting that chapter done, loving your research, hating your research, walking home feeling as if ‘this is it’ and willing to quit it all once and for good, and then, a second, or day later, pulling yourself together and moving forward. All this is both very personal and PhD-mundane. What was distinct about this research is the process of data collection. It involved hearing gunshots of the revolution, conducting interviews in the tents, walking in the fields of the borderline-war zone and taking a cab where a rifle was somehow just hanging right next to your head.

In the midst of it all--in Ukraine, Canada, Finland, and many other places of the world there were people who were with me day and night, in their thoughts, their warm wishes, their prayers.

It is with deepest, sincerest gratitude that I would like to thank you all.

It is difficult for me to proceed from this point onwards with any kind of ‘chronological order.’ I feel tremendous value and contribution of every single person who was walking this path of my PhD journey in her or his own way.

I would like to start with thanking Finland for becoming the academic home of my PhD research, for giving international students like myself a rare opportunity of obtaining top quality education and being so welcomed, so supported in countless ways. I would like to thank the CIMO Foundation, the University of Helsinki Research Foundation and the KONE

Foundation for funding this research. The generous support of these foundations made both my studies in Finland and fieldwork in Ukraine possible.

I would like to thank my supervisors, Professor Juri Mykkänen, Professor Markku Kangaspuro, Professor Pertti Ahonen and Dr Emilia Palonen for their guidance and support throughout different stages of this research. I am thankful to Emilia for involvement into the very first correspondence on my acceptance to the University of Helsinki, and for expressing care during first, particularly challenging months of my stay in Finland. I am also grateful to her family for offering help during times when it was truly needed, and for all the scientific advice she provided on this work. I am sincerely grateful to Pertti for being a supervisor of exceptionally efficient work-ethics, for his assistance with all official university matters, for his feedback on my dissertation and for being Custos for my PhD defence. I would like to express all my gratitude to Markku for being a supervisor of both academic advice and care for a student as a human being. I am endlessly grateful for the time that he found to discuss my work, and provide feedback and support that, at times, was larger than life—to share a joke and laughter during most happiest and darkest moments. I am so thankful for his geniality, for all of his kindness and talent of being a supervisor a student can always rely on and call a friend. Finally, I would like to render sincerest gratitude to my first supervisor Juri whose genuine care, professionalism, patience, understanding and ongoing willingness to help made successful completion of this PhD project possible. There are truly not enough words to express all the gratitude for the time he took to provide most thorough feedback, to guide this dissertation during both his work and official vacation time, and to lend a hand of support that encouraged to keep on going no matter what, and till the very end. I bow to the grace of his personality and will remain forever thankful for everything he has done.

I am grateful from the bottom of my heart to Professor Elena Trubina and Professor Don Kalb for finding time to be the pre-examiners of this dissertation and providing in-depth feedback and positive evaluation of this work. I would also like to express sincere gratitude to Professor Eeva Luhtakallio and Professor Johanna Rainio-Niemi for their time and desire to be part of the grading committee.

I am most grateful to Professor András László Pap for all of this time and willingness to be the Honorary Opponent at the defence of this dissertation as to lead it to its official completion.

I see mastering of this PhD journey being particularly challenging without core pillars of my life—my friends.

I would like to say biggest thank you to my deeply loved and admired friend, the legendary Pilates instructor of Vancouver, the intellectual and political scientist, artist, seeker of knowledge, and the incredibly multisided person, Rich Reynolds, for his immeasurable support

vi in completion of this dissertation. I am grateful to him for making me stronger both intellectually and physically, for challenging my ideas, for standing by my side years in a row and for teaching me to ‘keep my back straight,’ always. I am endlessly grateful to him for all the time he took to proofread my work as a native speaker, and for all of his invaluable feedback.

My warmest thoughts of gratitude go to Deema Annyuk, my dear friend, computer science and engineering genius, who provided technical support at most crucial stages of this research. I am immensely thankful for his readiness to help day and night, irrespective of distance, time- difference or any life circumstances. I am grateful to Deema for being my brother in Christ, for serving as an example of dedication to reaching all of the set goals, and for standing as a role model of “making the most of the best and the least of the worst.”

Neither this dissertation, nor my life would be complete without three women—my dearest, powerful, intellectually grandiose, beautiful from the inside out friends, Lidia Antonova, Ekaterina Netchaeva and Elena Gorskaja. I am grateful for their incredible wisdom, tenderness of their hearts, support, understanding, faith that they always had in my strength to complete this work, their bold words of criticism, their encouragement, their honesty, their unfailing, absolute love.

I am also endlessly grateful to my life-long friends in Ukraine and Belarus—Yurii, Anastasia and Kamilla Shostak, Dmitry Zamiatin, and Dmitry and Olga Kashkan. I am thankful to them all for being my inspiration, my source of creativity, for being my true family.

Marina Andretti is my unique and precious Canadian friend whom I am grateful to beyond words for staying with me in the same room and supporting me during toughest periods of this PhD endeavour. I admire her energy, her sense of humour, and am so thankful to her for being my soul-mate who always cared and gave most valuable feedback throughout all stages of this work.

I am being utterly grateful to Natalka Patsiurko, Sandra Kim and Andrew MacInnis for all the love and support that they shared so generously, for their ongoing act of kindness, for finding words that healed and helped to move forward with this research till the very end.

The spring of absolute talent, delicacy and kindness are my deeply loved friends from Estonia—Kristina Norman, Meelis Muhu, Liisa Kaljula and Natalia Munatajeva. I am grateful to these incredible artists, researchers, and foremost, amazing individuals for their love, for the moments of cry-out that we shared during toughest days of the Euromaidan Revolution, for their sincere compassion and care for Ukraine, and for all the support that each of them has

vii given me during all years of this research. It is true honour to know them, to love them, and to call them friends.

Finally, I would like to thank my ‘Finnish family’—David Dusseault, Inga Skucaite, Mark Teramae and Vaslav Skopets. These are the people who have not only witnessed this project unravelling with all of its ups and downs. They offered their extraordinary talent, their advice, provided physical and emotional space during darkest and brightest days of my stay in Finland, and have given their all. I am grateful to them from the bottom of my heart for being my rock, my everything. As I look back at this PhD journey on a broader, life-span scale, I would like to express special gratitude to a number of people who contributed to this PhD project during different moments of this path, and whose involvement was so powerful and longstanding.

I would like to thank my BA Honours thesis supervisor, Professor Peggy Meyer, for inspiring me to follow the path of academia and for providing endless support during all of these years of my PhD studies. I am grateful to her for sharing her knowledge on politics of Eastern Europe, for being the referee for my MA and PhD applications, and for being a person of tremendous intellectual and human scale. Her kindness, support and care are invaluable, both within the framework of this work and beyond.

I would also like to extend a special note of gratitude to the Chair of Ukrainian Studies of the University of Ottawa, Professor Dominique Arel, who has reached out with kind thoughts of support during a moment of great need. I am sincerely grateful for his care, as it served as an enormous source of energy and motivation for the successful completion of this research.

My immeasurable gratitude for the encouragement that was particularly empowering during years of this work is also sent to Giorgio Forghieri—a person of greatest spirit of loving life, freedom, and devotion to follow dreams. I am grateful for his messages, thoughts and energy that transcended both distance and time, and kept me going.

I am particularly thankful to Alexandru Moise, Olga Mun, Marichka Vitrukh, Anastasia Shmeleva, Eri Nagai, Osman Furat, Ferenc Gyuris, Svetlana Zhikharev-Gridina and Guss for their presence in my life, and their meaningful, diverse ways of enriching this PhD journey.

I would also like to express my sincere gratitude to the administration of the University of Helsinki and to all employees of the university who provided assistance and support during years of my PhD studies. I am particularly thankful to Marianne Järveläinen for all of her help with official submission of my dissertation, and would like to pass my warm gratitude to Minna Oroza, whose devoted assistance on practical matters made instruction of courses at Helsinki University and Aleksanteri Institute the exceptionally rewarding experience that is was.

viii

These words of acknowledgment would not be complete without dedicating warmest thoughts of admiration and gratitude to the very first person I met at the University of Helsinki and Finland—Marjukka Laakso—the person who made me fall in love with the best humanity has to offer. I am grateful beyond words for her thoughtfulness, her incredible warmth, for listening, for hearing, for being so open and free in expressing life, and for her rare energy and sense of humour. I am so grateful for her outstanding professionalism, for her patience and care in assisting students, as every single meeting with her was nothing but joy. I am honoured to know her and share our friendship.

I am grateful to all professors and fellow students and friends at Simon Fraser University, Sciences Po Paris, Central European University, and the University of Helsinki whom I was privileged to meet during this journey of my post-secondary education, and who made this path of learning so memorable and enriching.

Finally, I would like to thank people who made my pursuit of education and learning possible—my family. I am grateful to my mother Nataliya Ganytska for invaluable lessons she gave me as a teacher, as a woman of strength and a person of remarkable character and love. I am endlessly thankful to my sister Ilona Souchotte and my brother-in-law Mark Souchotte for walking with me in the midst of everything life had to offer—for their immeasurable support, for their kindness, advice, understanding, for all of their acceptance and love that transcends everything. There are truly no words that could ever express enough gratitude to my best friend, my inspiration, my shelter—the person whose unconditional love has made me who I am—my father Volodymyr Kutkin. I am grateful to him for having faith in me, always. For his support of my every endeavour, for his delicacy, for being my role example of a tremendous power of will. I count my blessings daily to be with them all, to be born part of our family, to grow and continue walking this path together.

Intentionally, heartily, with thoughts of gratitude that know no measures, I finish this statement of appreciation with the name of Ilari Lahtela—the Person meeting whom has changed the course of my studies in Finland and my entire life. To say that I am grateful to Ilari is to say nothing—no words would ever describe the scale of his support, the degree of his care, the depth of his love for others. This is the person who would give away his bed to the visitors of his place, for months. This is the soul that would save a cup of precious Finnish coffee for later not to wake another person up with the sound of a coffee machine. This is the heart of a cosmic compassion, the mind of an extraordinary talent, the person whose readiness to assist is nothing but an ongoing amazement. I thank Ilari for his bravery to share this PhD path with me with an open heart, with no single second of judgement or doubt. I am grateful to him for being with me through tears, laughter, for praying for my safety in Ukraine, for ‘re-discovering’ discourse

ix analysis theory together, for making a culinary masterpiece of a “Lenin cake” to make my work on ‘Lenin’ chapter a tiny bit sweeter, for Brazilian music, for making me appreciate beauty of silence, for all the seagulls, for our crazy daily rituals, and many more moments of care that came as an absolute blessing of this PhD journey. I thank him for being an epitome of 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8, for everything he is, for serving as a living example of Christian faith.

I would like to leave special note of gratitude to Vladika Varlaam (Novakshonoff), who rests in peace now, for all of his advice and guidance during times of hardship and joy, and for serving as a living example of how to be filled with love for every single person.

I would like to extend special gratitude to all the research participants in Ukraine without whom this project would not be possible. I am thankful for their time, their openness, all the sincerity and willingness to share what were often very personal stories. I am cordially grateful for their trust, as I tried to handle their narratives with greatest consideration possible.

It is overwhelming to realize what an enriching journey this PhD research has been—in both academic and personal terms, and what a statement of knowledge, love, support and care it was from so many people.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

I thank God for placing this research in my life and for giving me strength to complete it.

This dissertation is dedicated to all Ukrainians and to every single person who dares to chase dreams.

Helsinki, March 2020 Anna Kutkina

1. Context and background ...... 3 1. 1 Introduction ...... 3 2. Theoretical context: hegemony, counter-hegemony and multivocality ...... 13 2.1. Introduction ...... 13 2.2. Hegemony and counter-hegemony: the process of meaning-making ...... 16 2.3. Monologism, dialogism and heteroglossia: construction of multivocality ...... 21 2.4. The space of ‘imagined communities’ ...... 25 2.5. Conclusion: The bridging-- relating hegemony, dialogism and ‘imagined communities’ ...... 29 3. The decommunization and post-colonial framework ...... 33 3.1. Introduction ...... 33 3.2. Parallels between the ‘Soviet’ and the ‘colonial’ ...... 36 3.3. ‘Othering’ and the post-colonial space: the current debate ...... 39 3.4. The post-colonial context of the post-Soviet space ...... 41 3.5. Opposing views on historical origins of the postcolonial status of Ukraine ...... 44 3.6. Multivocality of the viewpoints : Decommunization laws in Ukraine ...... 47 3.7. Conclusion: bridging postcolonialism and decommunization...... 55 4. Research material and research methods ...... 57 4.1. Acquiring research material: general aspects ...... 57 4.2. Specifics of the fieldwork ...... 62 4.3. Interviews and ethics ...... 65 4.4. Images, videos, and printed texts ...... 69 4.5. The methodology of examining the research material ...... 72 4.5.1. Layered textual analysis ...... 72 4.5.2. Narrative analysis ...... 75 4.6. Conclusions ...... 76 5. The poster, roots of the Lenin cult and the historical memory ...... 79 5.1. Introduction ...... 79 5.2. Methodology of the poster: socialist realism and the thematic context of the poster ...... 81 5.3. The rivals of the state: defining enemies via posters ...... 83 5.4. Historical context of the ‘great leaders’: the communist cults ...... 85 5.5. Roots of the leaders’ cult ...... 88 5.6. Historical memory ...... 89 5.7. Conclusion: from the Soviet tradition to a modern Ukrainian framework ...... 93

6. Art of the Protest: political posters, graffiti and multiple forms of political art-- from the people to the government ...... 95 6.1. Introduction ...... 95 6.2. The grassroots voices of the Euromaidan revolution: the posters, graffiti and interviews ...... 97 6.2.1. Political ‘messages’ of the Euromaidan revolution ...... 101 6.3. The “Strike Poster”—“Страйк Плакат” ...... 105 6.4. Posters and the state ...... 113 6.5. Romanticization and realism: the government and ordinary citizens’ stands ...... 119 6.5.1 The grassroots ‘response’ to the state narratives: birth of dialogism? ...... 122 6.6. Conclusions ...... 125 7. The Fall of the Communist Statues: Meanings of Lenin ...... 129 7.1. Introduction ...... 129 7.2. The Leninfall: toppling of the ‘central’ Lenin in Kyiv-- origins of multivocality ...... 131 7.3. Regional varieties of the Leninfall ...... 139 7.4. The ‘Lenin camouflage’ or regional alternatives for demolition of Lenin statues ...... 147 7.5. Institutionalization of the Leninfall ...... 151 7.6. Conclusions ...... 153 8. Filling the ‘Pedestal’: From Lenin to Bandera...... 156 8.1. Introduction ...... 156 8.2. The Decommunization laws of post-Euromaidan Ukraine: problems of content ...... 158 and implementation ...... 158 8.3. The Decommunization laws: objections ...... 163 8.4. Nationalization of nationalism: From Lenin to Bandera ...... 165 8.4.1. Bandera and the nationalist discourse ...... 167 8.4.2. Bookshelves as mirrors of decommunization ...... 173 8.5. The Other-- ‘One hundred years of fighting for independence’ ...... 179 8.5.1. Bandera and Russia: heteroglossia of interpretations ...... 180 8.5.2. The ‘other,’ the ordinary Ukrainian and the state ...... 186 8.6. Conclusions ...... 193 9. Conclusion ...... 195 Bibliography ...... 204 Appendix ...... A.1

1. Context and background

1. 1 Introduction

“A crisis is always also a festival for heroes and martyrs, for metaphors and daring historical comparisons. The naked Cossack mocked by the special forces unit like Christ before his crucifixion, and Bulatov, the man who was actually crucified – their pictures are everywhere, their videos run on a loop on the screens and in people’s brains. Historically some people are reminded of the fall of the Berlin Wall, others of the run-up to the wars in Yugoslavia, yet others to the Kapp Putsch or the Arab revolutions. Then it’s said that Maidan is the bulwark of European values, or on the contrary the bridge between Europe and Asia. This, it is argued, expresses Ukraine’s desire to join Europe. Or the fact that Ukraine is half European and half un-European. The people in the Kyiv square are crushed under the weight of all these metaphors.”

-- Tobias Münchmeyer (Documenting Maidan, 2014).

The protest that became known as the Euromaidan Revolution started on 21st November 2013 as a response to Ukrainian government’s decision to suspend the process of signing the Association Agreement between the EU and Ukraine. It became the starting point of a dramatic political, cultural and economic change that affected daily existence of the majority of Ukrainians. Created during the first days of the protest as a name for a Twitter account, the term ‘Euromaidan’ consists of the two parts: either in Ukrainian or Russian, “Euro” is an abbreviation for Europe, while “Maidan” is a Turkish term for a “square” or, symbolically, “open space.” It was adopted by Ukrainians during the reign of the Ottoman Empire. Within the post-Soviet framework, the term ‘Maidan’ became a symbol of the revolution and an ongoing desire of the country to obtain its cultural and socio-economic independence from the historical and modern patronage of Russia. The subsequent process of decommunization is the subject of this research.

It will be shown that decommunization is far from a simple operation of eliminating all signs of the Soviet past. Contested at the regional, national and international level by both its participants and observers, the ‘Euromaidan’ has reached a broader social framework both as a discursive and physical symbol of the revolution. According to the web analytical network, Public.ru (2013), it became the most commonly used neologism both in Ukraine and the Russian Federation. It has entered the space of private homes and public institutions as the process of re- articulation of personal and public values. At the same time, ‘Euromaidan’ has served as the space of representation of both pre-existing and newly constructed perspectives that together turn decommunization from a unified effort into a multivocal patchwork.

The diversity or multivocality of the Ukrainians’ stand on the country’s association with the European or Russian geopolitical space was reflected numerically during the first month of the Euromaidan revolution. The potential rift between ‘Europeanisation’ or continuation of the socio-political and cultural ties with the Russian Federation is eminent in the official poll of Kyiv International Institute of Sociology: as of December of 2013, the support of the Euromaidan revolution among Ukrainians varied from 45% to 50%, with 42% to 50% opposing it. Out of all regions of the country, the biggest support came from the city of Kyiv (approximately 75%) and western regions of Ukraine (over 80%). The regional representation of the Euromaidan protesters was composed of 55% coming from western parts of the country, 24% from the central and 21% from the eastern ones. The study conducted by Kyiv International Institute of Sociology (November 2013) has also illustrated the generational division of the protestors and ordinary citizens who were observing the event: the vast majority of the supporters of ‘pro-European’ choice of Ukraine were young people (primarily, the activists born in the mid-late 1980s and onwards). The older generation (55 years old and over) was the one to frequently support President Yanukovych’s disposition of preserving close economic and socio-political ties with the Russian Federation. As of November 2013, the nationwide support of entry into the EU was 39% and that of the association with the Customs of Belarus, Kazakhstan and Russia was recorded to be 37% (Kyiv International Institute of Sociology, 2013).

Officially recorded as lasting until 23 February 2014 (the day when the Ukrainian Parliament voted to impeach President Yanukovych (Shipenkov and Pelevina 2013: 2), the Euromaidan Revolution became a national phenomenon that claimed the lives of hundreds of

4 people on both sides of the protest. It turned into years of socio-political, cultural and economic rivalry between Ukraine and the Russian Federation. Since spring of 2014, the annexation of Crimea (2014) and war in Donbas (eastern Ukraine, 2014-present) have been matters of both national and international dispute and have attracted the attention of political, media and scholarly public conducting research on post-revolutionary Ukraine (Allison 2014; Gobert 2017; Mankoff 2014; Robinson 2016; Viatrovych 2015). As a point of ongoing military confrontation within the geographical heart of Europe, the post-Euromaidan Ukraine, therefore, is the subject of interest of manifold social fields: namely, sociology (Gomza and Koval 2014; Sviatnenko and Vinogradov 2014; Zelinska 2017); political science (Kozyrska 2016; Kulyk 2016; Sereda 2015; Shevel 2015), anthropology (Sadof 2017; Buyskykh 2016; Tyschenko 2015), economics (Anlar 2016; Baysha 2014; McDowell 2015) and art (Freedman 2014; Gratza 2016; Minakov 2015). The existing studies of the aftermath of the 2013 revolution, irrespective of the above named disciplines, could be characterized as highly versatile in terms of approaches and outcomes of the analytical stands on post-Euromaidan Ukraine. They vary from classical discussions of the post-Soviet space as that of “conflicting and confused identities” (Weeks 2014: 61) to those of continuation of the tradition of interpreting the post-Soviet development (e.g. the Euromaidan revolution) as the prevailing attempt towards the states “humanization” (Enwezor 2008: 12) or liberation from the Soviet or Russian empire (Shkandrij 2001: 14).

This research is the result of extensive fieldwork in different regions of Ukraine, and thorough analysis of existing literature on socio-political and cultural developments of the post- Soviet space. It studies what I consider to be the core characteristic of post-Euromaidan Ukraine- - multivocality. It examines how the process of (post)2013 decommunization has been taking place at both the regional and national level of the country, and shows how both the ordinary citizens and the government become involved in diverse forms of the meaning-making processes (e.g. political posters exhibitions, preservation or demolition of communist symbols, or renaming of the streets). An outcome of a research that recorded the Euromaidan revolution live and includes 64 interviews and videos with the protestors, civic activists, politicians, members of non-governmental organizations, soldiers, artists, and ordinary citizens of oftentimes opposing stands, this work examines decommunization as both the political and cultural component of ongoing realities of the revolution and its aftermath. This research is both an ethnographic study of particular cities and people, and at the same time, an analysis of the

5 meaning-making process related to national identities. In general terms, it is a study of data that are “raw”-- the visual, interview or video material that has been recorded on the fly. The fieldwork data were collected in order to analyze the events and their aftermath as they happened ‘live.’

In her definition of Euromaidan as a space that represents socio-political and cultural composition of Ukraine, the curator and analyst of Hudrada (art-worker who participated in the self-defense of the Euromaidan revolution), Lada Nakonechna, delineates Maidan as a “multitude of completely different people who would never cross paths ordinarily” (Documenting Maidan, 2014: 15). In theoretical terms, the concept of ‘borderlands’ has been often used to explain the emergence of socio-political and cultural diversity and to provide an alternative for re-articulation of the idea of mono-ethnicity and homogeneity of socio-political and cultural spaces of states like Ukraine. As for the geopolitically amorphous zones “in between,” such as Ukraine, it is rather natural for “borderlands [to] generate hybrid identities and create political, economic and cultural practices that combine different, often mutually exclusive values” (Zhurzhenko 2014: 2). The units situated between the culturally and socio- politically diverse domains, borderlands are associated with multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism. Yet, such qualities of the borderlands pose a practical challenge to governments in power, as, if not being acknowledged or addressed at the institutional level, they carry potential of threatening the integrity of the state.

Particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, when multiplicity of the grassroots narratives on socio-political and cultural evolution of the state became distinct (Documenting Maidan 2014), traditional usage of the concept of ‘borderlands’ as the theoretical framework that explains construction and weakness of national identity became no longer fully sufficient (Zhurzhenko 2014; Sakwa 2016; Snyder 2014). In her earlier work on formation of socio- political identity of Ukraine, Tatiana Zhurzhenko (2002: 2) argues that geographically close to Russia, Eastern regions of Ukraine have been “politically loyal to the Ukrainian state, [where] many of [the Russian speaking Ukrainians and Russians in eastern Ukraine] were adherent to both the Ukrainian and Russian political stands.” At the same time, many of them neither wanted to accept the imposition of a Ukrainian cultural identity based on ethnic/linguistic criteria combined with anti-Russian sentiments, nor the opposition of a ‘European Ukraine’ to an ‘Asiatic Russia’ (Zhurzhenko 2002: 2). Twelve years later, as being affirmed by the author of

6 this quote, “every part of this sentence must be reconsidered” (Zhurzhenko 2014: 3). During and after the Euromaidan revolution, broad ideological consensus has emerged among the citizens of all parts of the country (with the exception of the Donbas region), while the anti- Russian sentiments have obtained the scale of a national rather than regional phenomena.

In broader terms, the socio-political developments of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine became the genuine test of national identity of the independent Ukraine. Facing the undeclared military aggression from the distinctly stronger neighbor-- the Russian Federation, the state of ‘borderlands’ (Ukraine) has turned into ‘bloodlands’ (Snyder 2017: 4). Within the framework of the physical threat, large populations of cities like Zaporizhzhya, Kharkiv, or Kryvyi Rih (eastern Ukraine) opted for the Ukrainian state by “being driven by considerations of safety and fear of violence, inspired by a new sense of patriotism, or led by the pain of national humiliation and by solidarity with those fighting for the nation’s territorial integrity” (Zhurzhenko 2014: 3). At the same time, some parts of the population have sympathized with separatists and the Russian Federation, and continue to do so in exchange of higher salaries, pensions, or due to political and cultural loyalty to Russia. As such, an array of broader questions that arise within the analysis of the ‘bloodlands’ as that of post-Euromaidan Ukraine is on ‘how to live together again in one state after the war is over?’ (Zhurzhenko 2014).

Considering the diversity of socio-political and cultural backgrounds of the participants of the Euromaidan Revolution and that of the media, political and academic analysts of socio- political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, dozens of books and academic articles have been published on multiple aspects of the aftermath of the Euromaidan revolution. However, the existing literature pays little attention to specific ways of constructing cultural meanings of post-revolutionary Ukraine. Not to deny the existence of narratives on “termination of military activities in Donbas being one of the primary objectives of “correct” narration at present” (Shevel 2015: 2), the process of de-Sovietization of Ukraine has emerged as the dominant legislative and discursive formation of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. The massive ‘decommunization’-- elimination of remnants of the Soviet regime from the physical, ideological and mental space of Ukraine, has started with toppling of the monument of Lenin in Kyiv on December 8 of 2013. It became the symbol of ‘Europeanization’ via ‘de-Sovietization’

7 and was followed by the overall demands for lustration1 of the ruling elites and banning of the Communist Party. It has taken the scale of national reforms that have penetrated both economic and socio-political domain of the state, and have affected both physical and cultural topography of Ukraine.

The result of analysis of existing literature on socio-political and cultural developments of the post-Soviet space, and post-Euromaidan in particular (Bohdanova 2014; Kvit 2014; Kulyk 2016; Onuch 2015; Shevel 2016), as well as fieldwork conducted in different regions of Ukraine (2013-2018), this research aligns with the assertion of ‘decommunization’ or ‘de- Sovietization’ being the primary discursive framework of socio-political and cultural evolution of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. The general theme (or ideological thread) that became visible throughout analysis of both the secondary literature and fieldwork data was diverse in its visual and informative context (e.g. visuals on the Euromaidan revolution, the exhibitions on war in Donbas or images of the overthrow of the communist statues). It was articulated around the subject of ‘othering’ or multiple forms of the Russian past (e.g. ‘de-Sovietization,’ ‘de- Russification’ or ‘decolonization’).

Since the early days of the Euromaidan revolution, the fundamental dilemma was “how to undo the legal, institutional, and mnemonic legacy of the Soviet era that mandates and institutionalizes one ‘correct’ interpretation of the past without repeating the Soviet approach of mandating one ‘correct’ interpretation and punishing the public expression of dissenting viewpoints” (Shevel 2015). The possibility of aggravating domestic divisions in Ukraine “by alienating the south and east from the rest of the nation,” by passing decommunization laws (Hitrova 2016; Marples 2018; Shevel 2015) and establishing anti-Soviet narrative as the only national and legal one has been acknowledged by both the Ukrainian and international scholars working on ‘de-Sovietization’ (Cohen 2016; Hartmond 2016; Soroka 2018). Recent studies also show that there is absence of any sizeable public protests against the governmental policies of

1 The term ‘lustration’ assumes that an individual or a small group of individuals can seize all power and cut off the rest of the population from all participation in state politics. Within the political context of the post-Soviet space, the terms refers to vetting, and implies tabooing of individuals who pose danger to a newly emerging democracy. In Ukraine, the term lustration refers to the exclusion from public office of civil servants who worked under Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych. It also addresses those who worked in the Parliament for more than a year and did not resign of their own accord between 25 February 2010 and 22 February 2014, as well as civil servants who were active in the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Source: https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org /e8b4/ 3209265e4600a17c4b8053e6cf1ac888706d.pdf 8 taking down the Soviet monuments or renaming streets, for instance (Portnov 2017; Shevel 2016; Viatrovych 2015). At the same time, these studies also argue that “there is no evidence of the widespread support for decommunization in the Ukrainian society” (Shevel 2016: 3). As such, there is neither support for the state-implemented policy such as the decommunization laws nor noticeable public objection. The explanation of what is eventually taking place at the grassroots, ordinary citizens’ level, I argue, is largely missing.

In the light of what has been said, the research questions of this study can be expressed as follows: as a contribution to studies of Ukrainian decommunization, this research traces the emergence, evolution and implementation of the decommunization process within the public space of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. Specifically, examining the data that were collected during fieldwork trips to different parts of the country, this work looks at how political phenomena, such as political poster exhibitions or graffiti, or public objects, such as pedestals of the toppled communist symbols, are used as powerful spatial and discursive mechanisms for articulating both the ordinary citizens’ and governmental stands on ‘decommunization’ or ‘de- Sovietization’. The existing research on ‘decommunization’ of post-Euromaidan Ukraine presents facts on the number of communist statues being demolished or provides criticism of the lack of democratic articulation of the Ukrainian de-Sovietization process. This research takes a step further by filling in the missing pieces on the nature, content and modes of articulation of the grassroots narratives on decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. As I intend to show further in this work, the process of decommunization has taken multiple forms of political expression and has to be examined as an integral part of the process of hegemonic meaning- making. To unravel the hegemonic process, this research addresses the regional evolution and articulation of meanings in different areas of Ukraine and intends to reveal the complexity of the meaning-making. It looks at public events such as posters/photo exhibitions or demolition of communist statues as effective mechanisms for exposing the multivocality of a state which, as the government of Ukraine claims, is being ‘unified’ by the process of decommunization or ‘de-Sovietization.’

This research draws upon the theory of hegemony by Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe (1985) (discussed further in chapter 2), as well as broader intellectual framework of the international relations and historical materialist traditions (Cox 2019; Modelski and Wilkinson 1999; Thompson 2015) that addresses hegemony as being “more than dominance” (Cox 2019:

366), and “being born out of conflicts and contradictions in the process of socio-political decay” (Cox 2019: 377). The ground idea of discourse theory-- that of the social phenomena being mediated through discourse, with meanings being never permanently fixed, is applied further in this work to examine the process of (post)Euromaidan decommunization as a broad array of discourses.

Such theoretical ‘reading’ of decommunization, I argue, is particularly relevant for this research. Its purpose is to identify different ways discourses, such as ‘Europeanization,’ ‘de- Sovietization,’ or ‘Russification,’ are part of the meaning-making process that is “never complete” (Cox 2019; Laclau 1985; Thompson 2015). At the same time, I intend to illustrate how the process of discursive or physical opposition to such discourses (e.g. oppositional political poster exhibitions or demolition/preservation of the Soviet monuments) is counter- hegemonic: how it establishes particular relations and orders of meaning that are of a contesting nature. The overall, broader claim of this research is that a hegemonic approach permits us to see the process of (post)Euromaidan decommunization as a political and cultural struggle over the ‘Soviet’ past and, potentially, ‘European’ present and future. This ‘struggle,’ however, does not imply socio-political or cultural division of the country’s population. It involves articulation of both contentious and similar stands, where multiplicity of the socio-political positions is core to the meaning-making process. As that of discourse analysis theory, the aim of this work is “not to discover which groups exist within the society” (Rear and Jones 2013: 5), or to unravel particular political formations that object or support the process of decommunization. My primary objective is to examine how the political and cultural diversity of the country’s citizens is being articulated and becomes visible within the process of the discursive struggle-- within the context of this research, that of post-Euromaidan decommunization. This ‘struggle’ or ‘contestation,’ as I illustrate further in this work, is a continuous process of meaning-making that is being articulated both during and after the revolutionary transformation of a state.

This research proceeds with exploring multiple modes of decommunization that is expressed via both grassroots and state engagement with posters, communist statues or street naming. It also looks at how the production of meanings is taking place through connections in space (e.g. articulation of visual/discursive narratives of pro/anti-Soviet nature). As means of examining the empirical data, this work draws further theoretical parallels between hegemony, Mikhail Bakhtin’s (1981) theory of heteroglossia and monologism, and Benedict Anderson’s

(1983) idea of the imagined communities (discussed in-depth in chapter 2). By bridging these theories, this work examines multivocality in decommunization as both the process and outcome of articulation of polyglossic or multi-voiced practices of civic dialogical interaction.

This research proceeds as follows. After outlining the theoretical approach (chapter 2), describing of the fieldwork (chapter 3), and giving the political and historical context of decommunization in chapters 4 and 5, it moves to the first empirical chapter (chapter 6) which addresses the process of meaning-making within the post-Soviet (or post-colonial) space. This process occurs through means of juxtaposition of civic activism and political propaganda being articulated in the form of political art. Based on collected visual data, it outlines mechanisms of articulation of meanings by ordinary citizens and governmental actors via posters, graffiti and public art exhibitions. Examining images of popular political art projects of Euromaidan or annual exhibitions of military operations, it reflects on how multiple images (citizen-made and government-installed posters) are relational and obtain their meanings through associations with neighboring elements such as the squares of their exposition. This chapter addresses how political posters and art of the revolution create heterogeneous hegemonic constructions, mixing elements of both the past and the present. Since one of the primary goals of (post-) Euromaidan transformations of Ukraine is the detachment from the ‘colonial Soviet past,’ the chapter looks at how political posters of the Euromaidan Revolution and political poster exhibitions that followed (2014-2017) contributed to the creation of multiple hegemonic formations that support articulation of the country’s history as being of colonial nature. The chapter also draws an analytical parallel between political art of the communist era and that of the Euromaidan Ukraine. In doing so, it aims at identifying what (if anything) has changed in methods of exposition of the posters and content articulated within the images. It also looks at how the poster as such could be used as both visual and discursive space of both consolidation and annihilation of class and ideological discrepancy of east European domain, both during and after the communist rule. Furtheron, it looks at how the political posters of (post)Euromaidan revolution are the transforming compounds of (visual) discursive elements and are entangled with the rest of the topographic framework of the cities’ or country’s landscape (the revolutionary streets, for example).

The second and third empirical chapters, ‘Meaning of Lenin’ and ‘Filling the Pedestal: From Lenin to Bandera,’ proceed to addressing multiple forms of establishment of

11 heterogeneous hegemonic formations via massive overthrow of the symbols of the communist past. Grounded on images of the fallen statues, as well as interviews conducted with ordinary citizens, government and media officials in different regions of Ukraine, the chapters analyze numerous episodes of both vandalistic and authorized demolition of socialist emblems. Within these chapters, the process of decommunization is considered not only as an indicator of the ideological or socio-political (cultural) transformations, but also as the phenomenon generating a discursive universe or the ‘imagined community’ that is understudied within the existing research on decommunization. Such ‘universe’ is more complex and multilayered than the one that is being presented by existing academic research. While the state is using the ‘decommunization laws of 2015’ and its aftermath-- complete demolition of the Soviet statues or renaming of the streets for establishing the hegemonic formation of a culturally and legislatively ‘unified’ state, the multiplicity of ‘responses’ to state-implemented decommunization reforms generates a new counter-hegemony that is highly under-examined. Such counter-hegemonic formation comprises elements of political frontiers dividing “us” and “them.” In other words, this counter-hegemony of the grassroots, ordinary citizens level is challenging the traditional ‘us’ versus ‘them’ view of socio-political construction of the states breaking out of either historical or current ‘communist’ domain. It is highly multivocal and contests the state-legislated formation of Ukraine being ‘unified’ under the decommunization, ‘liberative’ laws. These chapters examine modes of construction of such counter-hegemonic grassroots formations and socio-political and artistic practices that are used for implementation of these counter-hegemonic formations. Traditional narratives of ‘us’ versus ‘them’ are being replaced by ‘us’ being a ‘multiple’ and ‘them,’ what this research asserts to be rather blurred: the citizens do not simply identify with (or object) the political posters, the toppled monuments or the street names. The political art, communist statues or renaming of the streets provide the point of negotiation from which both the opposing and unifying identities are being built.

2. Theoretical context: hegemony, counter-hegemony and multivocality

2.1. Introduction

Rewriting histories and memories is an important process in revolutionary times. Historians and political scientists have been reading these processes from different perspectives. This chapter connects the process of re-interpretation of the past to political identity building, articulation of a dominant narrative or hegemony, and the construction of counter-hegemonic formations-- establishment of the discursive or physical opposition to dominant (hegemonic) discourses. It provides a theoretical framework for exploring political identity transformations, particularly decommunization (Chapter 3) within the material context of the countries in transition (e.g. Ukraine). It draws on principal work of the discourse theory to examine social transformations as the phenomena that are never finished or total, and are under ongoing construction or reconstruction.

To understand dominant meaning-making and challenges to it, the research turns to poststructuralist and postfoundational theory (Candlin and Maley 1997; Fairclough 1992; Laclau and Mouffe 2005; Phillips and Hardy 2002). In particular, the study employs the theory of hegemony by Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe (1985) to explore this transformation visible in political posters, communist monuments or street-naming. This work also addresses broader theoretical framework of the term ‘hegemony’ as to look at how it operates in different contexts, e.g. ‘hegemony’ as ‘being located in the overlapping and interactive structures of the society, economy, culture, or ideology which can be constitutive of and sustain political authorities’ (Cox 2019; Modelski and Wilkinson 1994; Thompson 2015). This point will be expanded further as the concept of ‘hegemony’ is bridged with other theoretical angles of this research.

In broader terms, since the primary objective of this research is to examine the process of articulation of the political and cultural diversity of the country’s citizens, as well as to

13 analyze how this process becomes visible through discursive struggle, the hegemonic approach is particularly relevant to this work. It allows the theoretical ‘reading’ of the phenomenon of the dismantling of the communist legacy as of a process of continuous meaning-making. It also provides theoretical space for examining ‘decommunization’ as a phenomenon that includes struggle or contestation of diverse socio-political positions, and, at the same time, does not necessarily imply absolute “dominance” or “supremacy” of one position over the other. As I illustrate further in the empirical chapters, the use of the term or the theoretical approach of ‘hegemony’ “could be also justified if [it is used] to emphasize the connotation of “leadership” (Arrighi 2010: 365): the struggle over the country’s past, present or future being that of articulation (or alternation) of both controversial and similar socio-political and cultural stands. Within such a process, the multiplicity of socio-political positions is core to a meaning-making process, which ‘employs’ ideological or the cultural concept of hegemony as being indicative of a dialogue rather than discursive and physical domination of one discourse (or ideology) over the other.

In recent years, there has been an increase in attention to the work of the Russian literary theorist, semiotician and philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin, who early on discussed the underlying heterogeneity and multiplicity of articulation of the socio-political stands that the poststructuralists (Culler 2008; Finlayson 2002; Peters 2012) are interested in. He provides a useful perspective to the study of decommunization. Bakhtin’s (1981: 291) definition of ‘multivocality’ as “co-existence of numerous voices (polyglossia) or socio-political contradictions that intersect and interanimate one another in a single language” is used further as to address social articulation of the struggle over meaning. Expanding on such definition of diversity, this chapter aims at adding to theoretical discussion of the process of meaning-making by juxtaposing the mechanisms of hegemonic articulation addressed in the discourse theory of Laclau and Mouffe (1985), and Bakhtin’s work on heteroglossia. In particular, it looks at how the process of hegemonic meaning-making implies the existence of counter-hegemonic formation that is ‘polyglossic’ or multivocal (Bakhtin 1981) and is counterposed to ‘monologism’ or single-thought discourse. As different elements are being articulated or put together through fixing of meanings (Laclau 1985: 18), the emergence of dialogism (Bakhtin 1981: 28) (or multiple socio-political stands) at particular points carries a tendency of producing

14 and explaining the socio-political and cultural transformations. This is an important addition to discourse theory that easily overlooks the question of change.

These theoretical ideas are used in examining multiple forms of decommunization-- the process that includes such measures that aim towards dismantling of the communist legacy of states and governments, cultures, and even the citizens’ mentalities. Within this research, the process of decommunization is argued to construct a hegemonic practice: an endeavor that forms particular relations and sequence of meanings within physical and political space. As hegemony is about generation and maintenance of political order, it is also about challenging it: this can be called the counter-hegemony. An attempt to establish particular relations and orders of meanings, hegemonic formation presupposes existence of counter-hegemonic construction which is characterized by the contesting nature of the meaning-making process. In other words, if hegemony is deeply grounded, then counter-hegemony could be seen as addressing these grounds. Within such a framework, a multiplicity of meanings is feasible, as the process of construction of counter-hegemonic formation involves articulation of potentially diverse, both similar and contentious stands. For Laclau (1985), ‘articulation’ comprises the connection of possible constituents of meaning (or ‘elements’), with the result that meaning arises and that these constituents become what he calls ‘moments’-- “signs that have their meaning fixed by discourse” (Rear and Jones 2013: 8). In broader terms, as an array of discourses, each structuring reality in a particular way, compete to define what is ‘true’ within a particular aspect of the social world (Rear and Jones 2013: 5), meanings are being altered and reconstructed.

To address an ‘outcome’ of construction of hegemonic and counter-hegemonic formations with the physical and discursive space, this research expands on Benedict Anderson’s (1983) theory of the ‘imagined communities.’ For Anderson (1991: 6), a nation is ‘imagined’ because “the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.” This dissertation adds to existing discussions and implication of Anderson’s theory of the ‘imagined communities’ by asserting the necessity of examining multiple modes of articulation of the imaginings. What is suggested is to narrow the point of the departure from ‘nation’ (Anderson 1983: 7) and to look at construction of the ‘imagined communities’ at different levels of the state (e.g. the level of the government or the elites, or that of the ordinary citizens). As this work aims at illustrating, the process of hegemonic meaning-making implies

15 the existence of counter-hegemonic formations that are ‘polyglossic’ (Bakhtin 1981) by nature of the diversity of people’s opinions. The process of hegemonic and counter-hegemonic formation consists of elements of the ‘imagining’: while multiple meanings are being articulated, members or ‘authors’ of hegemonic (or counter-hegemonic) constructions often are not aware of the discursive (or ideological) diversity. This research examines how the diverse forms of political art, such political posters or graffiti, for instance, could serve as both visual and discursive elements where articulation of the ‘imagining’ becomes eminent. The analytical detection of multiple forms of articulation of the ‘imagining’ (both at the state and grassroots level) is a further objective of the empirical chapters of this work.

2.2. Hegemony and counter-hegemony: the process of meaning-making

From the perspective of politics of the meaning-making, the ‘articulation of hegemonic formations’ (Laclau and Mouffe 1985; Modelski 2015; Overbeek 2019) affect (or define) the daily existence of a state’s citizens. For Laclau, ‘articulation’ comprises the connection of possible constituents of meaning (he calls ‘elements’) with the result that meaning arises and that these constituents become what he calls ‘moments.’ Within the context of cultural studies, for instance, an example of articulation would be “the formation of methodological framework for understanding of what a cultural study does” (Slack 2012: 18). On the other hand, articulation also “provides strategies for undertaking a cultural or political study” and serves as a way of ‘contextualizing’ the object of one’s analysis (Slack 2012: 19). In her discussion of social reality as being constituted by an ongoing struggle over meaning, Mouffe (1985: 98) defines ‘hegemony’ as “the practice of articulation through which given order is created and meanings of social institutions are fixed.” According to Laclau and Mouffe (1985: 105), further on, articulation is defined as a “practice establishing relations among elements such that their identity is modified.” The process of renaming of street-names or demolition (or preservation) of monuments is an example of articulation, where the government or the citizens are using physical space of different objects of urban space (e.g. monuments, posters or street-names) to

16 present their socio-political and cultural stands on the past, present and, potentially, future of the state. The concept of articulation is particularly relevant to this research. As I illustrate in the following empirical chapters, it allows the theoretical framework for examination of multiple modes of presentation of the citizens’ and governmental stands on political, cultural and economic evolution of the (post)revolutionary state.

In his analysis of articulation as a practice that both establishes a relation among elements and also modifies their identity, Torfing (1999: 101) argues that “the articulation of discursive elements into contingent moments within a hegemonic discourse takes place in a conflictual terrain of power and resistance, and will, therefore, always include an element of force and repression.” This research aligns with Torfing’s acknowledgement of ‘repression’ or contestation as being part of the articulation process. While different discourses remain part of the meaning-making process (e.g. in case of this research, those of ‘Europeanization,’ ‘democratization’ or ‘decommunization), they operate in the political space of the state and are the powerful mechanisms of articulation of both the dialogue and discrepancy between the citizens and the government. If one puts all elements together, hegemony could be defined further as “the expansion of a discourse, or set of discourses, into a dominant horizon of social orientation and action by means of articulating unfixed elements into partially fixed moments in a context crisscrossed by antagonistic forces” (Torfing 1991: 101).

Within the field of discursivity, Palonen (2018: 101) argues further, ‘antagonisms or heterogeneity is the underlying condition of the meaning-making process.’ Political articulations simplify this heterogeneous space by establishing a connection between different elements and generating new meanings and dominant narratives and hegemonic formations through these relations. Discourses are the articulated set of elements (Read and Johnes, 2013: 4) that construct hegemonic horizon within the process of contestation. The discursive construction is further defined as the one where meanings are generated relationally through articulation: it is a product of meaning-making on an uneven ground (Read and Johnes 2013; Spicer 2013). At heart there is, however, the underlying heterogeneity. The process of changing of the street names in Budapest (or Ukraine), for instance, is one of the many examples of such meaning-making, where “layering of the political discourses upon [the country’s] landscape is done by powerful social actors and groups with relational ties to the past and future eras” (Palonen 2018: 2). It involves the construction of the hegemonic horizon that is indicative of the

17 ideological transformations of the period (Azaryahu 1992, 1996), as well as generation of a discursive universe (Palonen 2018).

The theory of hegemony of Laclau and Mouffe is based on a post-Gramscian and post- Althusserian theoretical foundation. According to Gramsci (1971: 55), there exist two forms of hegemony: transformist and expansive hegemony. Construction of nationality in such a way that preserves the hegemony of the ruling group while including cultural features from the subordinated groups to ensure their loyalty is one of the examples of transformist hegemony. The successful creation of what Gramsci calls “a collective national-popular will” is the expansive hegemony. According to Torfing (1999: 111), both forms of hegemony involve the process of revolution-restoration-- the political renewal that carries potential for a revolution being an attribute of expansive hegemony. In its broader terms, this research focuses on application (or ‘testing’) of the second, expansive form of hegemony within the post-Soviet (e.g. Ukrainian) context. The theory of hegemony provides theoretical model for explaining the formation of a collective will within a heterogeneous state. “An offensive strategy for building an active consensus to mobilize the masses in a revolution” (Torfing 1999: 111), expansive hegemony contains both an ideological and a political scheme which allows evolvement of particular civic demands and the expression of similarities they expose (Gramsci 1971: 132). Within the expansion of the hegemonic process, contiguity between discursive elements is obtained through re-articulation of meanings. The phenomenon of ‘re-definition’ of nationalist symbols or groups as the discursive and physical elements of democratic transitioning of a (post)revolutionary state, for instance, is one of the examples of such hegemonic formation: it involves re-articulation of meanings as to allow integration of particular citizens’ (or governmental) stands.

The Laclau-Mouffean, post-Gramscian definition of hegemony has distinct validity for analysis of the processes of the re-articulation of a country’s ‘self’ and the ‘other.’ Inspired by the work of Laclau and Mouffe (1996: 32), Kevin DeLuca (1999: 18) writes that “in a world without foundations, without given meanings, the concept of articulation is the means for understanding the struggle to fix meaning and define reality temporarily.” Such definition of articulation is particularly important for this research, as the process of re-articulation of the citizens’ views of the past, present and future occurs specifically through interaction and ‘re-

18 construction’ of multiple elements in their surroundings (e.g. monuments, posters of the political exhibitions, or change of the street names).

In such cases as the disintegration of a colony or an empire, the process of hegemonic (re)articulation may take place within a rather compressed time-frame, and could be accompanied by conflict or confrontation Torfing (1999) refers to—be it a revolution, a civil war, or any other form of socio-political turmoil. In such terms, the process of reconciliation requires additional susceptibility which is an acknowledgement of the existence of multiple rather than homogenous socio-political stands— presence of discourses that are heterogeneous in their cultural and socio-political nature. This process, therefore, consists of a number of discursive formations that are reflective of multivocality of the population. At least at the administrative level, however, as this research illustrates further, hegemonic formations carry potential of being limited in presentation of unilateral rather than multiple socio-political strata. Within the state where the government restrains from acknowledgement of the grassroots political and cultural multivocality, the hegemonic formations may imply further necessity of re-evaluation of regional and national policies as to create social space for institutionalization of diversity.

Conventionally, after political alterations like revolutions or the collapse of an empire, hegemonic articulations emerge in diverse discursive and physical forms. They vary from graffiti, posters or monuments to laying scientific foundation for public meetings, scientific conferences or exhibitions. It is within such public spaces that, I argue, the establishment of heterogeneous meanings occurs. As soon as such visual (or ideological) elements engage with cultural or socio-political contexts of the country, ongoing struggle over meanings arises— be it the definition of modern ‘nation,’ the ‘hero,’ the ‘patriot,’ the ‘colony’ or the ‘colonized,’ the ‘self’ or the ‘other.’ In the Laclauian perspective, the articulation of meanings is taking place in constant juxtaposition of one element against the other and, to a certain extent, even within exclusion of certain elements (e.g. banning of the Soviet symbols as means of ‘Europeanization’ of the state) in the name of justification of commonly (governmentally) approved political stands. As has been the case with the post-Soviet space, the forms of embodiment of such elements could be rather diverse, and vary from a critical article, poster, or piece of intellectual property to an open protest or, on the contrary, refusal to participate in a public protest as a

19 statement of silent demonstration. The articulation of meanings, therefore, extends beyond particular linguistic, cultural or socio-economic group.

As such, in broader socio-political terms, policies, departments, routines, procedures, rituals or hierarchies may all seem insignificant at face value. However, it is the process of change of such social units that often mobilizes particular response— the government’s support of discursive frameworks that goes along with existing political narrative, and its disapproval of the one objecting an individual or groups in power. This signals the importance of further analysis of the relation between discourse and affect, as well as location of hegemonic construction as to involve the question on what socio-political scenarios are at work within a particular meaning-making process.

In her critical stance on exploring the changing conditions of hegemony and counter- hegemony in ‘postmodern and globalized times,’ Carroll (2011: 5) argues that “the process of articulation becomes more important than that which is being articulated…” As concrete hegemonic projects emerge out of the conditions of articulation of interests of different social groups, the process of hegemonic meaning-making carries a sense of socio-political (or cultural) accomplishment (Caroll 2011). Such sense of ‘accomplishment,’ Caroll (2011) asserts further, is one of the primary factors that carries potential of making the process of meaning-making more significant than the final product of articulation. Within a context where the change of political, economic or cultural directories occurs as articulation of intact hegemonic constructions, however, “the perception of the term counter-hegemony as complementary to hegemony,” Carroll (2011: 6) argues, is misleading. According to Carroll (2011: 7), it is delusive because there is an asymmetry between the two-- hegemony and counter-hegemony, which is rooted in different forms of power that are at stake.” As long as “power-over is sustained through an effective blending of persuasion and coercion, further on, hegemony remains intact,” Holloway (2005: 2) affirms. Occurring in either direct or veiled opposition to the aspects of dominant hegemony, the counter-hegemonic struggle takes place through the oppositional politics that vary from global justice movements to local, regional revolutions. At its core, what may seem as the “celebration of fragments in a politics of difference” (Kebede 2005: 12), “articulation of counter-hegemonic formations unravels the negation of closure, where fixation of homogeneity is opposed.” Ideally, in practical terms, as social solidarity and

20 political unity depend on both the ordinary citizens and the state, the articulation of similarities is to construct the baseline of the political meaning-making process.

In “Universalism, Particularism and the Question of Identity,” Laclau (1995: 106) argues that “originally the societies were far more homogeneous than the present ones.” For over twenty years, the claim of heterogenization of society has maintained its relevance: the process of meaning-making, that could be observed in multiple cases of demolition of objects of urban or rural spaces, change of visual signs of discursive articulation (e.g. change of the street names), or physical installation of images within the urban context (e.g. conduction of the political poster exhibitions), presents the case of the discursive struggle of diversity of meanings. “Different political groupings are differentiated from one another (and differentiate themselves from one another) through evaluations of the national past” (Palonen 2008: 219), and, as this research illustrates further, the present and, potentially, the future. The process of the discursive struggle is taking place at different administrative and civic (ordinary citizens) levels. Within such framework, both the discursive and physical elements compile the process of contestation. “Street names and statues [for instance] undergo similar process as political discourses that are created and sedimented through practices of inclusion and exclusion and inscribed through key elements” (Laclau 1990, 2005; Palonen 2006, 2008; Modelski 2018). Through acts of naming or renaming (e.g. street names), construction or demolition (e.g. monuments), both the population and the government are engaged in political acts that ultimately “carry no unified medium” (Robinson 2011: 7). Rather, it is an affluence of diverse social languages-- both the discursive and physical ground for multivocality or heteroglossia (Bakhtin 1970: 14).

2.3. Monologism, dialogism and heteroglossia: construction of multivocality

For Bakhtin (1981: 13), the single-thought discourse or ‘monologism’ is an integral part of the ‘dialogical principle.’ Homophony, or single-voice, is “the one transcendental perspective or consciousness that integrates all signifying practices, ideologies, values and desires that are deemed significant” (Robinson 2011: 39). According to Bakhtin, in a monological world, the

21 subjects have value only in relation to the dominant, transcendent perspective. They are reduced to the status of objects by means of not having rights as to be recognized as a separate, independent consciousness. Within such framework, the ‘truth’ is being constructed abstractly and from the dominant perspective that creates a horizon of meaning that excludes the possibility of articulation of autonomous voices. Such a process leads to discursive elimination or ‘death’ of the other who is unheard and exists in a state of non-being. In his examination of the origins of monologism, Bakhtin (1981: 15) provides the example of novels where characters exist exclusively as to articulate the author’s ideology. The characters are deprived of their distinct voices and are used by the author as a tool for establishment of a single-tone, ‘flat’ narrative. Taken beyond the exclusively literary circles, the scheme of monologism is applicable for a broader socio-political context of hegemonic, political meaning-making. According to Bakhtin (1981: 18), “the closure of recognition and public articulation of different voices is that of language that [becomes] associated with nationalism.” Such tendencies of centralization of the discursive formations and the neglect of multivocality are counterposed to construction of the linguistic or socio-political diversity.

As discursive and ideological contrast, dialogism countervails the establishment and implementation of monologism. Its primary characteristic, referred to by Bakhtin (1984: 2) as ‘double-voiced’ or ‘multi-voiced,’ is the recognition of multiplicity of voices and citizens’ perspectives. In literary terms, dialogism is present in a novel when each character has his or her “final word and relates to and interacts with [that] of the other character” (Robinson 2011: 42). The discourse does not simply unfold, but rather interacts, leaving space for articulation of the multiple into a multivocal discursive construction. If being ‘interpreted’ within the framework of discourse analysis, dialogism could be seen as a mechanism or a scheme for construction of heterogeneous hegemonic formations (e.g. street names, political posters, or multiple modes of toppling/or preservation of monuments that serve as physical and discursive space for articulation of diverse socio-political and cultural stands of both the citizens and the government). In its nature, the dialogical process transcends both voice and time uniformity. It engages with and is formed by the voices of others; it obtains meanings from both the present and the past, and uses the history to articulate and construct within both the private and public domain. As means of construction of cultural and socio-political strata that is sensitive to diversity, the dialogical discourse requires not only acknowledgement, but also the interaction

22 of ‘differences.’ It is designed to generate participation and response and has a polemical quality of resisting a ‘closure’-- “the temporary interruption in the fluctuation of meanings” (Laclau & Mouffe 1985: 104).

For Bakhtin, all signifying practices (e.g. use of language or symbols) have an ultimately dialogical objective. “Human consciousness is not a unified entity, but rather is always conflict- ridden between different consciousnesses” (Robinson 2011: 42). What emerges as a ground claim of Bakhtin’s theory of dialogism is that it does not only provide space for discursive articulation of differences; if being applied within a broader socio-political and cultural framework, dialogism implies practical implications of giving a particular voice (e.g. a discursive or political space) to the standpoints of many. Therefore, it assumes creation of a society that is fundamentally irreducible to dominance of the one over the many. As Robinson (2011: 43) illustrates in his analysis of Bakhtin’s work (Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 1984), “[dialogism] denies the possibility of transcendence of difference...Separateness and simultaneity are permanently with us.” Within such a context, meanings are being established within the process of contestation, where engagement into a dialogue is the primary context for construction of a socially inclusive world-view.

In Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, Bakhtin develops the concept of polyphony that informs much of his literary and political work. Literally meaning multiple voices (Bakhtin 1984: 13), polyphony develops into a single perspective that acknowledges the existence of different voices that are not subordinated to the voice of the author (be that an author of a literary work or a political leader or entity). In its basic terms, the process of the discursive struggle implies the existence of more than one voice. In The Dialogic Imagination, the concept of dialogism is expanded by Bakhtin into that of heteroglossia. Within these essays, the emphasis is made on the conjunction of diverse speech-genres. Each novel is composed on different styles as to assemble multiple voices into a single text. The monological view of a novel, or a particular narration of the text is turned into a combination of diverse perspectives because, Bakhtin argues, ‘the language which is used has been borrowed from others.’ The literature novelistic ‘scale’ of heteroglossia and the discursive struggle is also the characteristic of the socio-political and cultural world of both present and history.

For Bakhtin, the view of language as a closed system (e.g. Saussure) is problematic, since he sees the creation of a unified language, for instance, as a vehicle for centralization of power. By elevating a particular language to the status of ‘national’ or ‘international’ (such as English within the colonial context, for instance), there occurs a suppression of heteroglossia of multiple everyday speech types (or socio-political stands) by hegemonization of a particular language (or ideology). Within this research, Bakhtin’s theory on centralizing tendencies being the process that counterposes diversity is particularly relevant. It is applied for examining of what I argue to be the construction of the homogeneous hegemonic formation, as well as articulation of heterogeneous hegemonic formation. Articulated by the state, monologism (or homogeneous hegemonic formation) co-exists ‘in line’ with heteroglossia-- the multivocal counter-hegemonic construction of the highly diverse citizens’ voices. For Bakhtin, it is heteroglossia that construes the foundation of socio-political and cultural existence of the state. In broader historical terms, “monoglossic dominance is doomed to be ruptured by the return of heteroglossia, as the dominant discourse is interrupted by multiple voices of the people” (Robinson 2011: 45). As such, for the social ways of expression to occur via peaceful means, though contested and changing, the dialogue is the primary form for articulation of meanings.

In his analysis of history, the theory of “monologism versus heteroglossia” is used by Bakhtin (1981: 15), where he argues that “it is the emergence of dialogism at particular points of the state’s course that produces cultural revolutions.” Within the framework of this research, I assert that the expression of multivocality within a point when the state occupies or imposes the position of monologism may provoke not only cultural, but also socio-political transformations. As part of this process, old forms of physical or discursive formations are given new meanings, while new social relations produce new forms of speech (or re-construct the old ones). Not necessarily new, the physical objects of daily existence (such as monuments or street names) are given new meanings via articulation of particular, at times diverse, discourses into a regional (or national) hegemonic formation. Not necessarily the complementary truths, different perspectives produce new realities and novel ways of seeing. “It is incommensurability which gives dialogue its power,” Robinson (2011: 48) argues.

2.4. The space of ‘imagined communities’

For Benedict Anderson (1983: 6), the point of departure is that of “nationality, as well as nationalism and its cultural artifacts of a particular kind.” The creation of such artifacts is an outcome of spontaneous abstraction of aggregated historical forces that eventually merge into ideological or physical entities for defining socio-cultural and political context of the nation. In an anthropological spirit, Anderson (1983: 7) defines a nation as “an imagined political community,” where the majority of its members will never intersect or meet during their lifetime, and where yet “in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.” Though indirectly, the nation is also imagined as limited due to its “finite, if elastic, boundaries” (Anderson 1983: 8). Within the scope of this research, ‘imagined communities’ are also the construction of both physical and cultural (discursive) space and, as I illustrate further in the empirical chapters of this work, are the result of the meaning-making process.

Anderson’s concept of ‘imagined communities’ has become a major reference point within studies of sociology, nationalism, political science (Anthony D. Smith 1991; Gupta and Ferguson 1992), and geographical thought (Crang 1998; Massey and Jess 1995). In his analysis of Anderson’s work, Anthony Smith (1991: 16) pays particular attention to broader theoretical implication of Anderson’s theory. Specifically, Smith argues that the discursive selection of the article ‘the’ instead of ‘a’ particular nation is what lays the primary foundation for the ‘nation’ as a theoretical, broadly applied concept. Articulation of social space as ‘the’ imagined community “provides the foundation for addressing specific nationalist imaginings within both regional and international politics” (Derian 1993: 7). Smith then takes a step further as to provide the hypothesis for Anderson’s use of the term ‘nation’ instead of ‘state.’ For Smith (1991: 12), “it is not intended to suggest that the nation is the most definitive feature of the international system, but rather that it is an important one.” The nation provides a wide ground for theoretical examination because it embodies individuals of diverse cultural or socio-political backgrounds who are to be represented by the state. The term is also constructing a broader spatial and time domain, where examination of a particular political system and its members could be conducted based on multiple identities shaped within a wide range of historical contexts.

Within the scope of international relations, Nicos Papastergiasis (1992: 2) refers to work of Homi Bhabha (1990: 4), who addresses the concept of the ‘nation’ as to also underline the existence of cultural differences and construction of otherness in the post-colonial realm. In broader terms, according to Bhabha, the nation serves as an arena for expression of multiple forms of power relations, be it class or gender, as well as political principles, such as democracy or sovereignty. Within its physical and discursive scope, the nation is also the space for articulation of “hybrid identities” that are expressed via articulation of cultural supremacy or sovereignty (Bhabha 1990). Such “hybrid identities,” Bhabha (1993: 212) argues further, “deploy the particular culture from which the identities emerge to construct visions of a [modern] community, and versions of [the state’s] history.” If being juxtaposed to Anderson’s (1983: 8) definition of nation as being confined due to its “finite boundaries,” Bhabha’s conception of a nation, therefore, could be seen as a ‘soft’ one: it challenges Anderson’s rendering of ‘nation’ and the ‘imagined communities’ by addressing ‘nation’ as a political and cultural space that is rather ‘liquid’ and is open for diversity or “negotiation” of meanings of nation.

Upon further analysis of the existing critiques of Anderson’s work, extensive ‘geographical’ application of the author’s assertions seems to be few. For instance, Blaut (1989) does not address Anderson’s work in his analysis of Marxist theories of nationalism, and Short’s (1991: 226) Imagined Country refers to Anderson’s Imagined Communities as to an additional reading (Barnes 2001: 16). One of the major criticisms of Anderson’s work comes along the lines of his “failure to fully acknowledge or develop the implications of mobility, space and nation” (Radcliffe and Westwood 1996: 118). One of the most vocal critics of Anderson’s arguments are also the postcolonial scholars who assert that Anderson is ‘too linear in his explanation [of how] the political structures and institutions change from dynasties to sovereign nations through the standardized influence of print capitalism’ (Said 1993; McClintock 1995). To add to existing debates, Partha Chatterjee (1993: 24) addresses limitedness of the imagined communities by primarily European colonialism. Nationalism and nations, Chatterjee (1993: 24) argues, “operate only within borders articulated in Europe, and thus can only by conceptualized within the European structures.” Anti-colonial nationalisms oppose colonial nationalism using similar nationalist arguments. According to Chatterjee (1993), anti-colonial nationalism could only be imaged through cultural practices. While acknowledging its

26 importance, he challenges Anderson’s definition of the processes of print capitalism as a standardized language, and argues on limitations of using such approach within the context of rather multilingual, diverse societies of the post-colonial space.

Finally, important critique of Anderson’s work is presented by Don Mitchell who pays particular attention to means of definition of the concept of ‘nation’:

The questions that [arise] are ones about who defines the nation, how it is defined, how that definition is reproduced and contested, and, crucially, how the nation has developed and changed over time…The question is not what common imagination exists, but what common imagination is forged (Mitchell, 2000: 269).

In his work on discourse theory, Torfing (1999: 193) argues that “the homogenization and substantialization of the national space will take the form of a number of predicative statements defining what the nation is.” At the same time, he continues further, “the true essence of the nation escapes predication” (Torfing 1999: 194). The process of homogenization of the nation is taking place through discursive construction of the ‘enemies of the nation,’ which are simultaneously outside and inside the nation (Torfing 1999: 195). Not only the symbols of ‘the other,’ or the oppressor (such as monuments of the communist regime within the post-Soviet space), but also the concept of the ‘nation’ is being re-articulated. The homogenization and substantialization of the ‘nation’ includes reduction of difference to sameness, and this is what Torfing (1999: 195) argues to be a defining feature of the nationalist discourse.

This research aligns with this assertion. Examined further in empirical chapters of this work, countries of the post-communist space, such as Ukraine are examples of homogenization of the nation, where both present and historical context of the state contains multiple instances of institutional reduction of cultural, linguistic or political distinctions to uniformity. If read within the theoretical framework of Bakhtin’s (1981: 2) ‘monologism’ (or single-thought discourse) theory, the state becomes the ‘voice’ that articulates one transcendental perspective into the entire field, or the ordinary public. The socio-political consequences of such practices are often aggravated by the nationalist rhetoric, and vary from civic discontent to arrant military activities, or legislative policies of decommunization.

The revolutionary events and socio-political developments of countries in transition bring us abruptly face to face with significance and applicability of Anderson’s theory within

27 the context of modern socio-political developments of the post-Soviet states. For instance, when it comes to explaining enthusiasm of the ordinary citizens’ willingness to die for territorial integrity of their country (such as that of post-Euromaidan Ukraine) “secular transformation of fatality into continuity, contingency into meaning is what justifies and promotes the salvation” (Anderson 1983: 11). If, as Anderson (1983: 12) points, “nation-states are widely conceded to be ‘new’ and ‘historical,’ the nations to which they give political expression always loom out of an immortal past, and, still more important, glide into a limitless future.” Though unofficially, such logic of turning chance into destiny—construction of meanings for present and future that is either based on the ‘glorious’ past or is liberated from the ‘oppressive’ elements of the present is what composes the backbone for justification of sacrifice for countries involved in armed conflict.

As Debray (1988: 16) recounts, “yes, it is quite accidental that I am born French; but after all, France is eternal.” The same statement could be applied to any other state. Such narrative, endowing of uncontrolled elements of life such as place of birth, for instance, with power of predetermination of one’s destiny, is commonly used by the governments as means of establishment of the hegemonic meanings. The process of articulation is taking place in order to create a solid order and meaning of social institution that is fixed (Laclau 2005). By means of multiple forms of articulation (e.g. political posters, toppling of the communist monuments or re-naming of the streets) the ‘new’ political formation is being created-- be it the local community or the nation as such. While the process of actual meaning-making that leads to construction of hegemonic formations involves real acts of physical interaction with objects of political art, architecture, or change of the street-names, for instance, the final outcomes of such physical manipulations with objects of urban topoi create a rather phantomic, illusionary formation or the ‘imagined community(ies).’ Within such process, ”tracing the specificity of the particular discourses introduced into the city-text” (Palonen 2018: 101) could be one of the modes of analysis of the hegemonic formation-process. Another one would be to identify specific mechanisms that transform the process of meaning-making into that of an ongoing compromise -- the emergence of dialogism (Bakhtin 1981: 18) as means of producing socio- political alteration.

2.5. Conclusion: The bridging-- relating hegemony, dialogism and ‘imagined communities’

The process of dialogue, not only the strictly human one, but also that of interaction with objects of one’s surrounding (e.g. demolition or preservation of communist symbols) is an essential element of the meaning-making process. To exist, it requires engagement of multiple voices, positions and subjects. It is the phenomenon that transforms people and carries potential of producing physical (e.g. topographic ) changes. From the perspective of discourse analysis, the process of meaning-making allows contestation where articulation is the primary component of establishment of hegemonic formations. For Laclau and Mouffe ([1985] 2001: 112), a discourse is an attempt to fix meanings within a particular domain. In Laclau and Mouffe’s terms, the representation of discourse as a structuring of meaning within a specific terrain is what leads to the concept of hegemony. What could be defined further as the process of achieving social consensus, hegemony is reached through articulation, or connection of meanings (or ‘elements’) into a dominant horizon of social orientation or action. As the phenomenon of fixing meanings can never be completed fully or permanently within a discourse, the process of meaning-making allows ‘contestation,’ or struggle where articulation is the primary component of the establishment of the hegemonic formations.

Analysis of a broader array of academic literature that deals with the concept of hegemony and the process of meaning-making unravels varied intellectual traditions. The fields of diverse intellectual practices involve world-systems analysis, historical materialism, or international relations, to name a few. On the basis of an ongoing dialogue, scholars of these traditions strive to add to existing ‘classics’ of hegemony (Gramsci 1971; Laclau and Mouffe 1985) as to facilitate its common understanding. In his “Approaches from a Historical Materialist Tradition,” Robert Cox (2019: 366), for instance, aligns with traditional definition of hegemony as “[being] never complete” (Laclau 1985). At the same time, he also argues that “there is always some opposition provoked by a hegemonic order, [where] some contradictions generated from within lead to its transformation” (Cox 2019: 366). For Cox, as well as other scholars contributing to socio-political and cultural understanding of social change through the prism of hegemony (e.g. Chase-Dunn 2018; Gills 1994; Thompson 2015), “historically transitory nature of a hegemonic order relates to the success with which a dominant structure of

29 power [generates] a condition of acquiescence over a vast range of the order that it is in fact...dominating.” In their further examination of the nature of hegemony, followers of the historical materialist tradition, for instance, define hegemony as a ‘quality of a whole, not just a relationship among the parts’ (Cox 2019; Chase-Dunn 2018; Thompson 2015). For them, hegemony is more than just dominance. It is an “internalized coherence...that has been transformed into an intersubjectively constituted reality” (Cox 2019: 337). Within a broader domain of international relations, the term ‘hegemony’ is also used as synonymous to that of ‘empire,’ Destradi (2010: 909) argues. Such practice “makes an unequivocal identification for meaning particularly problematic” (Destradi 2010; Krasner 2001).

In this study, my intention is to address an existing manner of equalization ‘hegemony’ and ‘empire.’ I suggest to apply both classical analysis of ‘hegemony’ discussed above (Laclau and Mouffe 1985) and that of a broader theoretical framework (international relations or culture studies, e.g. Cox 2019; Destradi 2010; Hardt 2000) as to examine the process of meaning- making of states in transition. The definition of hegemony as a ‘process that is never complete’ is used as a common reference point between the school of discourse analysis and wider theoretical approaches that examine hegemony as a relationship of ‘dominance’ and ‘subordination’ (Bussmann and Oneal 2007; Cox 2019; Knorr 1985; Rapkin 2005). Within this research, I emphasize the transitory nature of hegemonic formations as being the ground condition for socio-political and cultural changes within a state. The ‘other’ or the ‘empire,’ as I illustrate further in the empirical chapters of this work, serves as an integral component and point of reference that both comprises and stimulates the process of meaning-making.

In preceding discussion, theoretical parallels were drawn between the theory of discourse analysis, Bakhtin’s (1981) theory of heteroglossia (and monologism) and that of Anderson’s (1983) ‘imagined communities.’ According to Bakhtin (1981: 12), “the entire world can be viewed as polyglossic or multi-voiced since every individual possesses their own unique worldview which must be taken into consideration through dialogical interaction.” He argues further that “different worldviews eventually condition one another and turn into a process which produces change through creative elaboration by ways of new and different meanings” (Bakhtin 1981: 271). Within the framework of co-existence of multiple voices within one state, the concept of hegemony not only refers to the privileged position of a nation-state or a group, but becomes a broader construction of multiple discursive formations. The concept of

30 monologism (Bakhtin 1981: 8) could be used further in parallel with that of a homogeneous hegemonic formation. Dialogism, on the other hand, could be juxtaposed with heterogeneous hegemonic construction that, I argue, is being formed through multiple forms of socio-political and cultural dialogue. As a step further, a dialogue can then produce a discursive response that originates actual social changes.

The task of bridging of heterogeneous elements into a potentially consummated whole is the one Bakhtin, as well as Laclau and Mouffe, Destradi or Cox aim at resolving at various levels. This chapter addressed the theoretical background of the ‘evolution’ of multivocality-- the meaning-making process that ranges from monologism to heteroglossia, the hegemonic to counter-hegemonic formation. In a broader conceptual framework, the juxtaposition of monologism to polyphony, or homogeneity to heterogeneity, could be seen as the interlocative correlation between ‘I’ and the ‘other.’ Such interaction (or lack of such) occurs within the space of lived experiences, where establishment of the hegemonic reading remains a personal, interpretative act. It occurs through articulation and fixing of meanings-- putting of different elements of history, present and the potential future together. Within such a process, despite the necessity and potential desire of both individuals and the public (or state as a whole) to create a uniform, mutually-inclusive formation, contenstation remains the integral part of the meaning- making process.

This research proceeds further with analyses of the process of meaning-making of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine-- the decommunization. Both the informal and authorized procedure of eradication of the Soviet past from the physical and discursive (e.g. mental) space of the state, this research addresses decommunization of post-2013 Ukraine through the prism of resolving ‘tension’ between homogeneity and heterogeneity, hegemony and multivocality. As this work aims at illustrating, the process of hegemonic meaning-making implies the existence of articulative operations that seek to provide fixation of a discursive field. In case of the post- Euromaidan Ukraine, the process of ‘decommunization,’ I argue further, is akin to that of ‘decolonization.’ It could be seen as a hegemonic construction to the extent that it manages to redefine the terms of state-relations and set a new agenda for specific political formations, as those of the post-Soviet governments. Identification and further juxtaposition of ordinary citizens’ and government’s narratives, as well as multiple processes of interaction with objects

31 of national past require implementation of dialogism (Voloshinov 1986: 45) as the effort of understanding, as “the active reception of speech [and action] of the other.”

Support for physical (or ideological) extermination of the ‘other’ virtually assumes the creation of the ‘imagined communities’ (Anderson 1983), where without seeing or directly interacting with each other, the citizens are unified around the concept of the destruction of (or liberation from) the ‘aggressor’ or, on the contrary, its physical or discursive preservation. From the critical point of view, within this chapter, Anderson’s take on nationalism as unifying a nation instead of allowing nation’s multiple meanings has been acknowledged as being potentially single-minded. Whereas the question of “what common imagination exists” (Anderson 1983; Mitchell 2000) endures, examination of reproduction and contestation of the ‘imagined communities’ is essential for further analysis of development and transformation of nation over time. As being addressed further in this research, the concept of a ‘new nation’ is being constructed around the ‘other’-- the Soviet state and that of modern Russian Federation. The process of meaning-making emerges into hegemonic (and counter-hegemonic) formations that take multiple forms and range from toppling (or preservation) of communist statues to renaming of streets and exhibitions of political posters. The following chapter provides the contextual framework for this research. It addresses existing debates on the post-colonial nature of the Ukrainian state, discusses conceptual basis of post-Euromaidan decommunization and prepares the reader for empirical analysis of the Ukrainian decommunization.

3. The decommunization and post-colonial framework

3.1. Introduction

This contextualising chapter addresses diversity of the academic stands on the ‘decolonial’ status of the post-Soviet states like Ukraine, and provides the analysis of manifold scientific positions on the phenomenon of post-Euromaidan decommunization. This chapter also prepares the reader for critical evaluation of the collected data presented in the empirical chapters of this research. In postcolonial studies, the term ‘postcolonial’ implies a set of transformative political practices, ideas and ways of thinking and doing that involves deeply considered engagement with “the experience of colonialism and its past and present effects” (e.g. political, economic or cultural legacy of an empire) (Mullaney 2010: 6). Specifically, the process of decommunization can be seen as a form of post-colonial transformation (Atwood 2003; Mullaney 2010; Wilson 2015). It involves the process of ‘othering’ that, as this research illustrates further, occurs through articulation of diverse socio-political and cultural stands into hegemonic formations. Multiple overlapping of discourses and contestation of meanings occur within contexts that reflect both private (the ordinary citizens’) and public (the state’s) engagement with the past as a means of shaping the country’s present and future. As the spread of colonialism often implies violence and physical or ideological (cultural) coercion, the process of decolonization, Mullaney (2010: 8) argues, can be “erratic and traumatic.” In this chapter, I present an analysis of the academic discussion on decommunization as a phenomenon of socio-political and cultural transformation of the state, where the process of decommunization or ‘de-Sovietization’ includes multiple forms of articulation of the ‘colonial other.’ It varies from the official legislative reforms (e.g. the 2015 decommunization laws in Ukraine) to multiple forms of the citizens’ interaction with objects of cultural heritage and the political art (e.g. monuments, street names or political posters). This chapter illustrates further how the process of ‘democratic’ or ‘pro-European’ transitioning includes debates on the necessity of post-Euromaidan decommunization-- the

33 relevance and timeliness of complete demolition of the Soviet symbols from both the physical and cultural space of the state. It is argued here that tendencies of the post-colonial debates are comparable to those of the Ukrainian decommunization: as multiple forms of pros and cons continue to emerge, there exists the necessity of clear identification of what to forget, as much as what to remember. Twenty-five years after the publication of Orientalism, Edward W. Said (1994: xxi) “raises the question of whether modern imperialism ever ended.” The process of extending power and dominion, either by territorial, socio-political or cultural control, imperialism always involves the use of power. As the phenomenon of suppression and multiple forms of domination of one political unit (or state) over the other, it is the global occurrence that knows no racial, economic or cultural limitations. It spreads from ancient times of China, Asia or the Mediterranean, to those of Europe, North or South America. For people of Central and Eastern Europe, the struggle against imperialism is also a centuries-old phenomenon. As the time of powerful landlords and foreign monarchs dominating the socio-political space of this region is long-time gone, the communist regime could be seen as the most ‘recent’ form of an empire (Bremmer 2017; Glatz 1983; Pearson 1997) that has been openly fought against by the states of central and eastern Europe. Particularly after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the process of decommunization has taken multiple forms and has been implemented by both the governments and ordinary citizens of the newly-formed states. Within such a process, the reconstruction of the society through ‘rediscovery’ or re-articulation of the country’s political and cultural heritage has been the focal point of democratization. “The goal of post- Communist transitioning must be the creation of a new kind of society” Tarifa and Weinstein (1995: 63) argued. With that being said, the probability of “history, with all of its mysteries, biases, and falsifications [playing] a significant role in reconstruction of eastern Europe is high,” Tarifa and Weinstein (1995: 64) asserted further. When it comes to the historical legacies, the modes of reconstruction or the scale of socio-political and cultural changes that have taken place in the former communist states since 1991, there exist considerable distinctions between different countries of central and eastern Europe. In particular, scholars working on decommunization distinguish two general tendencies: “the states that have chosen a path toward democracy and those that continue the replacement of the orthodoxies of communism with orthodoxies of another kind” (Kozak

2017; Mayerchyk 2015; Tarifa and Weinstein 1995; Mitchell 2013). Usually, the economic, political and cultural turbulence is the inevitable condition of the states undergoing transitioning. However, as Tarifa and Weinstein (1995: 64) argue, “the outcome of decolonization or decommunization ultimately depends on how two pressing questions are handled”: ‘what should be de-communized in the societies?’ and ‘how should the task be accomplished?’ In addressing the first question, the authors assert that two alternatives could be distinguished: “either to de-communize the body politic-- the institutions, or the principles involved in governing civil society-- the focus on the people, or the citizenry” (Tarifa and Weinstein 1995: 64). The decommunization of the body politic involves demolition of the one-party state model and implementation of the democratic principles of governance-- the multi-party system. The decommunization of the citizenry, on the other hand, is a “personal matter” (Kolakowski 2002: 17). The latter type of decommunization, Vogel (1993: 2) argues, is at its root “an anti-democratic undertaking, [since] it calls attention to people’s past associations in rendering judgements to the effect that some are fit to participate in the reconstruction of the society and others are not.” This chapter provides the contextual framework for exploring implementation of decommunization as the phenomenon of both at the level of the “body politic” (Tarifa and Weinstein 1995: 64) or institutional and “personal” (Kolakowski 2002: 17) or ordinary citizens. In particular, it aligns with the argument of Minchik (2003: 16) who asserts that “the question of how decommunization is to be accomplished requires a more complex answer.” Motivated by the atrocities of the past (e.g. physical or ideological purges), the process of decommunization takes diverse forms and varies from what could be seen as a democratic articulation of the ordinary citizens’ stands via relatively peaceful demonstrations (e.g. decommunization of the Baltic states) to those of potential weakening of the citizens’ democratic protection (e.g. decommunization laws of the post-Euromaidan Ukraine) (Kozyrska 2016; Himka 2015; Motyl 2015). In Latin America, Africa, or Asia following World War II, for instance, the death of authoritarianism rarely led to full implementation of the democratic practices, scholars working on democratic theory and democratic transitioning argue (Huntington 1991; Curry 1993; Mitchell 2013). Analysing such historical experiences, the scholars assert that “conditions do not bode well for democratization efforts in the former communists states of central and eastern Europe” (Lipset 1994; Kolakowskij 2002). However,

35 to a lesser or greater extent, old-style communism has been repudiated (Tarifa and Weinstein 1995: 67). This chapter expands on complexity of existing debates on the postcolonial status of modern Ukraine. It suggests to study both the affirmative and opposing stands on the ‘postcolonial’ status of Ukraine as a scientific ‘narrative’ that allows examination of the constitution of a modern community or a nation, and, at the same time, enables investigation of re-articulation of the nation’s past.

3.2. Parallels between the ‘Soviet’ and the ‘colonial’

The process of Sovietization was the cornerstone of the socio-political evolution of the 20th century eastern and central European states. For the whole of Eastern Europe, Schöpflin (1993: 75) argues, “Stalinism has been the central formative experience since the war, the benchmark against which all subsequent developments [have been] measured.” The extraordinary quality of this political system originates from both its extensive ideological and geographical scope. “It is hard to master a precedent for the experiment conducted by the Soviet Union in culturally diverse polities over such a short period of time,” Schöpflin (1993: 75) asserts further. Within the intensity of the process of ‘Sovietization,’ all strata of the society, all forms of civic activity, all public and individual elements were expected to comply with a set of norms and regulations that were established by the highest echelon of administration or undergo psychological or physical persecution for failing to do so. In such terms, the desire of the ruling elites to extend and retain the authority over the people (or territories) could be seen as resembling colonial formations.

Within the communist system, the independent thinking or public debate were discouraged rather than supported by the state. The system of Marxism-Leninism established a powerful hegemony that aimed at precluding doubt and claimed at providing answers to potential questions on politics, economics, or culture. Within such a framework, there emerged a specific way of existence and construction of daily activities—be those approaching specific tasks of building a bridge or composing poetry. Such scheme of ideological carcass constructed

36 political space that was hierarchical, regimented and communal. In broader terms, the civic feedback that would challenge the state apparatus was a rare rather than a popular phenomenon. As being argued by scholars working on the (post)communist space, “the past, present and future of the state could be seen as being ‘defined’ by the state” (Lasswell 1968; Radchenko 2013; Schöpflin 1993). As a result, development of the society capable of generating initiative or multiple forms of an independent thought was rendered complex.

At least as far as the study of the imperialism and culture is concerned, however, “nearly every writer of the 19th century was extraordinarily well aware of the fact of the empire,” Said (1993: 14) argues. “The liberal cultural heroes like John Stuart Mill, Arnold, Carlyle, Newman, Macaulay, Ruskin, George Eliot and even Dickens had definite views on race and imperialism, which are quite easily to be found at work in their writing,” Said (1993: 14) asserts further. Despite ideological and socio-political purges that followed those who critiqued the state, writers and poets of central and eastern Europe have also expressed their civic and cultural stands that acknowledged the existence of an empire. The 19th and 20th centuries Ukrainian poets and writers, Taras Shevchenko, Mykola Bazhan, or Mykola Khvyliovyi, or famous dissidents of the Soviet era-- Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Yelena Bonner or Yuri Orlov (the founder of the Helsinki Moscow group) are among such many. If, as Said (1993: 15) argues, the “intellectual, aesthetic, scholarly and cultural energies...have come to serve the broadly imperialist view of the world,” the same cultural forces could be seen as exposing and objecting to the colonial system.

Therefore, whether over seventy years of the communist rule succeeded in breeding politically and culturally homogeneous society of no independent thought is open for debate (Schöpflin 1993). However, what seems to emerge as a general framework of most of the post- communist states is an explicit antagonism towards the state-imposed uniformity. The struggle for independence from cultural and socio-political dictate became the primary objective of de- Sovietization movements of the post-Soviet space (Portnov 2014; Tischner 2005; Weiner 2001). With the exception of the majority of Russians in Russia, subjects to “powerlessness in the name of utopia” (Schöpflin 1993: 80), citizens of Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Hungary, Poland, Ukraine and other post-communist states expressed an explicit desire to distance themselves from the cultural and political remnants of the communist system’s rule. The process of such ‘decommunization’ has taken place in multiple forms of both physical and discursive demolition

37 of relics of the communist past. The motion of articulation and confirmation of sovereignty of these states has occurred through toppling of the communist monuments as physical and ideological reminders of the colonial heritage. The process of ‘decommunization’ has also taken place as renaming of the streets and production of various forms of political art that has served as a bridge between ordinary citizens and the newly formed governments.

The following sections of this chapter focus on specific examples of the meaning- making processes within the post-Soviet states like Ukraine, where construction of national identity occurs through the prism of juxtaposition of the ‘self’ and the ‘other.’ In particular, they address existing debates on credibility of defining the Soviet past as ‘colonial,’ as well as examine debates on the socio-political aftermath of the communist rule: corruption, poverty or weak civic institutions. I argue that examination of the process of ‘othering’ is exceptionally important for a broader analysis of the process of decommunization since, as the phenomenon of socio-political and cultural transformations, decommunization is grounded on identification of the ‘oppressed’ and the ‘oppressor,’ ‘the self’ and ‘the other.’ Multiple forms of decommunization, the Singing Revolution of Lithuania (1991), the Revolution of Roses (Georgia, 2003), the Orange Revolution (Ukraine, 2006), or the most recent Euromaidan Revolution (Ukraine, 2013-2014) are examples of civic expression where profound post- communist transitioning faces a long-term challenge of creating both physical and discursive space for inclusion of the citizens’ political and cultural diversity. Such space, as I illustrate further in the empirical chapters of this research, affiliates ‘remembering’ with the consciousness of a tabula rasa, or providing room for new things.

3.3. ‘Othering’ and the post-colonial space: the current debate

In broader terms, the socio-political developments of states in transition have been analyzed by both European and international scholars and organizations. One tendency that could be distinguished is the disposition of justifying ongoing woes of the country in turmoil by its historical ties to the empire. In case of most of the post-Soviet states such empire is the eastern, Russian neighbor. In his explanation of the process of modern nation-building, Ryabchuk (2013: 4) states that “it is to be set as a response first and foremost to its post-colonial status.” The scholar working on postcolonialism and the post-Soviet domain, Mayerchyk (2015: 19) asserts further that “discourses such as feminism, nationalism, post-colonialism or (post)- Sovietness are intersected in the production of meaning within the protests and wars that follow.” As multiple forms of resistance to the empire, historical figures become particularly important during times of the post-colonial identity construction. They are not only perceived as symbols of a new (e.g. ‘European’) state, but are also viewed as role models for amalgamating political and military action.

When it comes to theories that reconstruct the country’s broader colonial context, Gerasimov and Mogilner (2015: 12) address professional historical inquiry as the “postcolonial subjectivity.” Any normative historical scheme embedded in one’s analysis immediately raises suspicions that “certain empirical data might not have been taken into account because they do not fit into this scheme, and the rest have been interpreted from a vantage point alien to both the protagonists of the events and the conventions of the study’s chosen methodology” (Gerasimov and Mogilner 2015: 14). The essentially geopolitical historical articulation ascribes meaning to selective events depending on their ‘geocultural’ positioning: it depicts the post-Soviet space as a token of the historical spectacle between two global players-- Russia and the United States, who compete for regional domination. An American historian of Central and Eastern Europe, Timothy Snyder (2015: 14), addresses the phenomenon of the revolution as an outcome of historical interplay between another set of global players: the European Union and Russia, “each advancing its own historical scenario and embodying a distinctive historical (that is, civilizational) political organization.” In his analysis of post-Euromaidan events, Snyder (2015: 8) argues that “the revolution and war only make sense when the country’s history is placed within a global framework and the choices of [its] revolutionaries are understood as a response

39 to a historical predicament.” In other words, within the framework of international analysis of the socio-political and cultural developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, Ukraine and the broader post-Soviet space are examined as the geopolitical sphere of influence of three major players: the USA, the EU and the Russian Federation. Most of the other countries of the former USSR could be seen as the domain of geopolitical contestation primarily between the US and Russia, however, either due to their geographic location (e.g. Georgia), or the existing membership in the EU (e.g. Estonia, Lithuania, or Poland, for instance).

Another popular assertion that exists within the analytical discourse on the ‘colonial’ status of the post-Soviet states is on “limitedness of options of these countries to two pre-existing historical scenarios—the fundamental choice between integration and disintegration” (Gerasimov and Mogilner 2015: 5). In his evaluation of the historical ‘causes’ of the Euromaidan Revolution, Snyder (2015: 8) argues that “Ukraine is little more than a function of its own history, while history is a product of contention between several great powers” (e.g. “the Nazi and Soviet projects of transformation”, Snyder 2015: 9). Already in early 2014, a prominent political activist and writer, Jurii Andrukhovych (2014: 12) expanded on the idea of the Ukrainians articulating their stands on their country’s geopolitical belonging. He provides an extensive definition of what ‘pro-European’ choice means for citizens of the post-Soviet states themselves: “when we are fighting ‘for Europe’—that means we are fighting for our independence. It is for this reason that pro-European choice equals independent Ukraine and equals a free individual in a free country.” In such context, it could be argued that, for the ordinary population of the countries like Ukraine, the question of ‘disintegration’ is generally eliminated from both the discursive and physical domain of the state.

The ‘integration,’ in Adrukhovych’s terms, occurs via ideological or non-physical space, where the ‘European choice’ is also the possibility of re-integration or the return to original, centuries-old idea of the country’s independence. In broader terms, the ‘international’ vision of the status of the post-Soviet states as countries that are trapped between multiple ‘empires’ could be defined as that of a geopolitical contestation. The ‘Ukrainian’ narrative of ‘its own, independent political course,’ for instance, includes extensive emphasis on cultural, non- physical (re)-integration into the European socio-political and cultural domain. As a bottom line, within the political and cultural context of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, “the idea of colonialism and decolonization becomes equal to ‘decommunization,” Shevel (2015: 8) argues. It is present

40 in both the international and east European narrative. It is what this research asserts to be at the core of construction of the hegemonic formations that involve articulation of diverse forms of interpretations and meanings of east European heritage-- that of the ‘post-colonial’ or the ‘post- communist’ nature.

3.4. The post-colonial context of the post-Soviet space

The popular historicist stance on the post-Soviet space, even somewhat exaggerated as that of Snyder in regard to Ukraine, is geopolitical since it treats values and cultures as being spatially and civilizationally defined. “There is ‘Europe,’ the champion of normal decolonization and good integration, the ‘Balkan model’ of nationalism, successful in decolonization but failing to provide proper social integration, and ‘eastern Europe,’ which in the 1930s became the space of competing colonial projections and aspirations by regional superpowers—the USSR and Germany” (Gerasimov and Mogilner 2015: 12). Finally, the clash between Germany and the Soviet Union, Gerasimov and Mogilner (2015: 5) continue, “was also a clash between two re-colonial ideas, two notions of how to apply colonial knowledge to the center of Europe.”

One of the primary cornerstones for explanation of the socio-political turmoil in the post- Soviet space is based on the classics of postcolonial theory. In his extensive analysis of Ukraine as a postcolonial state, for instance, Andrzej Szeptycki (2011: 11) presents a number of classical definitions of ‘colonialism.’ This term has been traditionally defined as ‘West European powers’ rule over overseas territories inhabited by other racial groups.’ The colonial expansion is striving to control and turn advantage over another society via physical or cultural domination of the supreme authority. “A colony is thus a territory subordinated politically and economically, lying outside the colonizers’ own state and their own civilization” (Kieniewicz 2003: 2). Such definition, however, Szeptycki claims further, needs to be broadened. “Colonialism should be described as a protracted rule over another racial/ethnic group, coupled with a policy of

41 economic exploitation and forced acculturation” (Szeptycki 2011: 7). White settlers’ colonies of Canada, or the dilation of non-European powers such as Japan are but a few of such examples. Continuum of an empire striving to take control over a frail state is the pivotal condition. In a similar vein, the case of the post-Soviet domain is a complex phenomenon where both narrative and physical space has been used for re-articulation of the countries’ ‘colonial’ status. Depending on the regime in power, colonial (or anti-colonial) narratives are being contested by articulation of multiple, at times conflicting hegemonic formations.

Despite the decades-long debates on veracity of the approach, increasingly more authors have been construing the present and past of the Soviet/Russian-Ukrainian relations along the scheme of the (post)colonial paradigm (Bowen 1991; Galeotti 2014; Petro 2014; Shkandrij 2001). In addition, many journalists have also analyzed Russia’s wars in the ‘post-Soviet’ space through the postcolonial lenses: they argue that “Russia has taken up a new imperial mission, aimed at unifying the post-Soviet lands under its rule” (Danen 2016: 7). The Eurasian Union is being defined as one of the examples of Russia’s imperial objectives. Historical legacy of the USSR, Russian imperialism, is often assumed, but, as Danen affirms, “seldom explained.” Particularly in the context of the Ukrainian-Russian crisis (2013-onwards) and military confrontation in Donbas (2014-present), the theoretical framework of the conflict’s coverage is protean. In such state, examination of “how the post-2014 Russia-Ukraine conflict could be explained from a post-colonial point of view” (Danen 2016: 8) is integral, as the very fact of discordance in application of the postcolonial theory to modern post-Soviet context construes the heterogeneity of the meaning-making process within the political realm of eastern and central Europe.

In his prolific discussion of the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Taras Kuzio (2004: 4) argues that “the former USSR is a perfect example of the empire.” He uses Michael Doyle’s definition of an empire as being “a relationship, formal or informal, in which one state controls the effective political sovereignty of another political sovereignty.” Kuzio (2002: 12) sees the USSR “as a socio-political body with a defined core (Moscow and the Russian SFSR) and peripheries (the non-Russian republics), where the elites ruled, and the peripheries were subordinated to the core.” He further draws special attention to organization of the Soviet state, where “the Russian SFSR was the only Soviet republic that possessed no republican institutions for the bulk of the Soviet era and it, alone of the 15 republics, was never portrayed as the

“homeland for its titular nation.” The popular discourse of the USSR on ‘Russia being the elder brother,’ or the ‘leading nation’ of the Soviet space, also commonly used by modern Russian state, turned into a policy that could be seen as deliberately confusing Russian and Soviet identities.

While one should not expect the Ukrainian-Russian relations to be fully normalized after the decades of the historical socio-political and cultural confrontations, Kuzio’s parallel between Irish-English and the Ukrainian-Russian relationship in regard to civic, class-attributes of an empire, for instance, is to be re-examined in more detail. Ireland lost its language (Ukraine nearly did), Ireland and Ukraine were colonized by English/Scots and Russian, respectively. While, most certainly “the upper classes were assimilated in both countries” (Kuzio 2002: 12), it cannot be argued that, historically speaking, the Ukrainian elites have been continuously partitioned from the peasant majority.

Already in the early 19th century, many among the intelligentsia gradually developed a sense of estrangement from the empires’ establishment, and, in turn, directed their interest towards the peasant masses. Driven by the ideas of German philosopher, Johann Herder, Ukrainian intelligentsia in both Western and Eastern parts of what is now modern Ukraine had strong desire to raise the national, ‘classless’ identity. In his Ukraine, Subtelny (2000: 45) addresses Herder as being the first to insist that “human civilization lives not in its general and universal, but in its national and peculiar manifestations, [and though] each culture manifestation must be original, its originality is that of the national community and the national consciousness.” In other words, instead of viewing society from the narrow perspective of a nobleman, or a peasant, members of the Ukrainian intelligentsia, therefore, articulated their civic stands as approaching the society as a whole and considering the interests of all. In time, “criticism of the status quo became a standard feature of the intelligentsia’s discourse-- so much so that in the late 19th century, a part of the intelligentsia even dedicated itself to changing the status quo at any cost and by whatever means necessary,” Subtelny (2000: 48) indicates further. The claim that “Ukrainians became ‘non-historical’ peasant people with no ruling class” (Kuzio 2002: 12), or the outcasts of the Russian Empire, as such, could be re-addressed. “One of the key attributes of the periphery” (Kuzio 2002: 12)—the dismantlement of the elites from the ordinary masses, was but an exception in states like Ukraine.

3.5. Opposing views on historical origins of the postcolonial status of Ukraine

The analysis of the fieldwork conducted as part of this research illustrates that the idea of Ukraine being the ‘colony of Russia’ obtained particular importance after the Euromaidan revolution. It became a mode of ‘unification’ of the state against the external aggressor-- the Russian Federation. Within such a framework, the re-assessment of the past and contestation of the definition of an ‘enemy’ became particularly relevant.

In his work, “The Postcolonial is Not Enough,” Yaroslav Hrytsak (2015) objects to the traditional view of Ukraine being a colonized state. He argues that it was specifically during the interwar period that the idea to defend their autonomic rights to rule their republic was articulated by some of the Soviet Ukrainian leaders. Though the contrariety was demolished together with the defenders of postcolonial discourse, “the situation took another turn after World War II and the death of Joseph Stalin when a unified and placated Ukraine was granted the role of a “younger brother” to Russians in the administration of the Soviet Union” (Hrytsak 2015: 15). Both within the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union, Ukraine was more core than a colony, the scholar argues. “Colony fits the Ukrainian lands of the Habsburg monarchy better. From Vienna’s perspective, these lands were political and economic backwaters. In contrast to their compatriots in the Russian empire, local Ukrainians (Ruthenians) were never offered the status of partners—neither in Vienna nor in their respective provinces” (Hrystak 2015: 15). This claim is not to deny, however, that the Ukrainians of the Austro-Hungarian empire possessed more extensive political freedoms than those under the Russian rule. It is particularly this— extensive political rights of Western Ukrainians, that, Hrystak (2015: 16) asserts further, “turned Galicia into a hothouse of the Ukrainian nationalism.” Already in 1914, “Galicia obtained the status of casus belli between the Habsburg and Romanov monarchies, turning into a citadel of ‘Ukrainianess’ for the years to come” (Hrystak 2015: 16). He ends his discussion of the engagement of empires in the socio-political course of Ukraine with a statement that it was a “bitter irony” that Ukrainians of the Habsburg lands were fighting to liberate Ukrainians from the Russian Ukraine, which, he claims, “was hard to call a colony in a strict sense” (Hrystak 2015: 17).

While academic discussion (Kuzio 2015; Shevel 2016; Szeptycki 2011) of the relations between Russia and Central Asian countries (those of distinct ethnic and religious variance) provokes fewer doubts in regard to their colonial character, a number of objections appear when addressing states like Ukraine. One of the three core “brotherly countries” of the Slavic background—Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus (Alexander Jakubanecs, Magne Shupphellen and Helge Thorbjorsen 2005: 2), Ukraine comprises an intricate case as the only state out of the three that has been resisting classification of ‘Slavic brotherhood’ in vigorous terms and, for centuries, has been making the socio-political turns toward the west.

The common Slavic background of Belarus, Russia and Ukraine is another argument that is widely used in both academic and political circles of the opponents of the ‘colonial’ definition of the post-Soviet states (Dugin 2014; Korostelina 2010; Szepycki 2011. “The three East Slavic nations are derived from the same stem (Kyivan Rus’), they are united voluntarily in pursuit of common interest (Union of Pereyaslav, 1654), and [thus] such community of religion and linguistic similarity rules out any talk about colonization,” argues Szeptycki (2011: 4). As being reflected in the Valuev Circular of 18632, which states that “no separate Little Russian (Ukrainian) language ever existed, does not exist, and could not exist,” the Russians of the Tsarist era were politically cynical. Szepycki (2011: 21) proposes further that the content of the Valuev Circular “must have also reflected a genuine belief of the tsarist Russia’s political elites of the time in a missionary role of Russia in education and patronage of its Slavic neighbouring territories.”

Finally, Khmelnytsky’s meeting of the Cossack elite and the voluntary decision to accept the tsar’s rule over Ukraine, historians argue (Danylenko 2016; Remy 2007; Yakovenko 2008), has elevated Moscovy as a great power. And thus, for better or for worse, “the fate of Ukraine became inextricably linked with that of Russia” (Subtelny 2000: 52). According to the Russian historian Vasilii Sergeevich (d. 1910), the 1654 agreement was a voluntary union between Muscovy and Ukraine, “where the two parties shared the same sovereign but maintained separate governments.” Another specialist in Russian law, Nikolai Diakonov (d. 1919), argued

2 The Valuev Circular of 18 July 1863 was a secret decree of the Minister of Internal Affairs of the Russian Empire Pyotr Valuev (Valuyev) that incorporated an act of limiting Ukrainian language publishing. It included prohibition of publications of educational and religious content in Ukrainian within the Russian Empire. Source: https://www.academia.edu/3879076/ Valuev_Circular_of_1863. 45 that “by accepting “personal subjugation” to the tsar, the Ukrainians unconditionally agreed to the incorporation of their land in the Muscovite state and the agreement was therefore a real union” (Subtelny 2000: 55). On the other hand, historians, such as Russian Venedikt Miakotin and the Ukrainian Mykhailo Hrushevsky, insist on the Pereiaslav Agreement being a form of vassalage in which the more powerful party (the tsar) agreed to protect the weaker party (the Ukrainians) on condition that he would not interfere in their internal affairs. In a matter of a debate, another Ukrainian historian, Viacheslav Lypynsky (1926: 11), proposed that “the 1654 agreement was but a temporary military alliance between Moscow and the Ukrainians.” The Communist Party of the Soviet Union, on the other hand, interpreted the Pereyaslav Agreement ‘as a natural culmination of the age-old desire of the Ukrainians and Russians to be united, with the union of the two peoples being the primary goal of the 1648 uprising’ (Subtelny 2000; Arkas 2012). In practice, Ukrainian hetmans became free to exercise their socio-political and cultural authority and were considered to be the de facto rulers of Ukraine. Already by 1686, however, all of the Ukraine was divided up among the powers that surrounded it.

In his analysis of the Russian-Ukrainian relations through the prism of the post-colonial theory, Myroslav Shkandrij (2001: 8) states that “Russia had to reduce Ukrainians to colonial subjects in order to legitimize the Russian imperial project during the 19th and 20th centuries.” As such, “as Ukraine stands as the egress of civilizational or cultural (e.g. religious) advancement of Russia (e.g. Kievan Rus’), most of the positive characteristics of the Ukrainian culture are attributed to Russian influence, while all negative ones (anti-Russian), to malign foreign (Western) influence” (Ryabchuk 2010: 11). Particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, however, I argue, such argument has virtually lost its validity within Ukraine, where the notion of ‘Russian influence’ obtained consensually negative connotation.

3.6. Multivocality of the viewpoints : Decommunization laws in Ukraine

In her work on “concept models of the society of Ukraine twenty years after independence,” Karina Korostelina (2013) presents prevailing conceptual narrative models of the post-Soviet space employed by Ukrainian and international experts working on the post- communist domain. Her study reveals the following narrative categories: (1) a state without a national idea and common identity; (2) a country in an unfinished transition and degradation; (3) a divided society; and (4) the state as a colony of “wild capitalism” (Korostelina 2013: 15). Already in January of 2013, months prior to the Euromaidan Revolution in Ukraine, the author argues, “analysis of these categories helped to assess conflict potential in the post-Soviet space,” which, being forecasted by prominent analysts of socio-political, cultural and economic developments of the disintegrated USSR, was “highly plausible” (Korostelina 2013: 22). The first three of Korostelina’s models are directly relevant as they ‘re-emerge’ as primary narratives articulated in the empirical materials studied in this work. Within the fourth category, “a state as a colony of wild capitalism,” however, as being shown by the collected data, the emphasis is changed towards Ukraine being a colony of Russia. Triggered by losses of lives of the participants of the Euromaidan Revolution, as well as presence of the Russian Federation military formations in Donbas, the phenomenon of decommunization or ‘decolonization’ evolved as the dominant discursive and legislative umbrella of post-Euromaidan Ukraine.

First to commence as early as in 1991, massive destruction of objects of the Soviet heritage took place after the Euromaidan revolution in western, central and most of the southern parts of the country. In eastern regions, such as Kharkiv, Luhansk, or Donetsk, as well as dozens of smaller towns in Donbas, however, communist statues “were not only left standing, but received a new lease of life as sites of pro-Russian mobilization and symbols of discontent with the Kyiv government” (Zhurzhenko 2014: 4). Originally defined as manifestation of “the clash of values” (Pirie 2007; Zhurzhenko 2014), the process of decommunization became the multifaceted phenomenon of national identity-making that runs as both the discursive and legislative framework of the post-Soviet states.

Within the context of the ongoing war in eastern Ukraine, which was triggered and sustained by the military and ideological support of the separatist formations in Donbas by the

Russian Federation, the remnants of the Soviet heritage became the primary objects of the legislative and physical reformation of the Ukrainian political space. At the institutional level, physical, spatial markers of the Soviet identity, Lenin statues (and the communist insignia as such) became legislatively defined as the symbols of communist oppression (e.g. official decommunization laws of 2015). Since the year of 2015, the remnants of the ‘colonial’ past, “[the communist insignia] had to be cleared from the physical space of the streets to provide ideological domain for ‘Europeanization’ of Ukraine” (Viatrovych 2015: 2).

Already at an early stage of its implementation, however, critical stands on extensive decommunization of Ukraine have been expressed by the Ukrainian and international scholars, as well as political figures. Both the Ukrainian and international community has addressed decommunization as ‘the primary socio-political and cultural objective of post-Euromaidan transformations [that were] missing the target’ (Marples 2015; Shevel 2015; Zhurzhenko 2014). For scholars like Lev Gudkov (2015: 2), the confrontation of the Kyivan government with the Soviet cultural heritage has little to do with the eradication of an actual Soviet ideology or values. Instead, an overall phenomenon of de-communization of the post-Soviet space, Gudkov argues, could be defined as construction of “negative identity,” which operates primarily within the category of the “enemy.” The basic consequences of such reformative practices, Zhurzhenko (2014: 6) asserts, is that “from the perspective of the pro-Russian protesters, [proponents of decommunization] are the “Banderists3” and “nationalists” from Kyiv and western Ukraine, who want to destroy “[the pro-Russian population’s] monuments” and “steal [their country’s] past.” The monuments of Lenin are “floating signifiers that carry no ideological value, but mark local identity as being ‘anti-Kyiv,” or in the case of the Lenin monument being located in western parts of the country, for instance, that of the ‘anti-Soviet’ or ‘anti-Russian’ one, Zhurzhenko (2014: 6) claims further.

3 Stepan Andriyovych Bandera (1 January 1909- 15 October 1959) was a Ukrainian politician, revolutionary and the head of a militant wing of Ukrainian independence movement. He was a leader of the Ukrainian Nationalist Organization (OUN) during and after the WWII. Within the national context of Ukraine, he is one of the most controversial figures of the country’s history. Remembered as a hero primarily in Western parts of the country for an attempt to proclaim an independent Ukrainian state, Bandera is seen as a war criminal in central and eastern parts of the country for collaboration with Nazi Germany and for killing Jews, Russians and other ethnic minorities living on the territory of Ukraine. In 1942, his organization (OUN) was involved into massive Massacres of Poles in Volhynia, as well as ethnic cleansings across Eastern Galicia. On 22 January 2010, the President of Ukraine Viktor Yushchenko awarded to Bandera the title of Hero of Ukraine. Source: /https://www.britannica.com/biography/ Stepan-Bandera. 48

The broader phenomenon of ‘de-Sovietization’ or ‘de-Russification,’ however, is an occurrence of the socio-political and cultural changes that take place through destruction of physical remnants of the communist past. The process of values-replacement occurs within the framework of distancing from the Soviet legacy through reformation of the state apparatus, or change of the value system within both private and public domain. According to Dudek (2016: 3), the dominant procedural elements of post-Euromaidan decommunization include the following: “lustration, education (official changes of state policies regarding the Communist era), and demolition of the symbolic-- physical and discursive elimination of the Soviet past via destruction of the communist monuments or renaming of the streets, squares or public places.” The study of the physical aspects of decommunization, such as decommunization of public space, is the primary focus of the existing academic literature, as well as media and political research on post-2013 Ukrainian ‘decommunization.’

In practical terms, argues Antonina Kozyrska (2016: 2), “the policy of decommunization of public space was conducted inconsistently and superficially, [where] two models of Ukrainian identity emerged as the primary ones: the inclusive and the exclusive one [have dominated] the discussions of the Ukrainian and international intellectuals.” The former was the one that accepted multiple cultural forms of the Ukrainian identity-- Ukrainian, Russian, as well as Soviet, with an objective of celebrating holidays and commemorating identities that were indicative of national heroes. The compromise and the freedom of opinions was the goal of such models, where the co-existence of statutes of Stepan Bandera, Vladimir Lenin, or Taras Shevchenko4 was to be regulated at the institutional level (year of 2014). However, the possibility of having communist symbols as part of a new, ‘pro-European’ Ukrainian state is raising the question on limits of tolerance-- that is whether, as Riabchuk (2013: 5) argues, Stalin, for instance, as a figure of the communist decade, “[could] be considered a hero as well?” The exclusive model, on the other hand, is based on the ethnic identity of Ukrainians “being shaped by Ukrainian history and collective memory” (Kozyrska 2016: 2). Particularly in the areas of

4 Taras Hryhorovych Shevchenko (9 March [O.S. 25 February] 1814 – 10 March [O.S. 26 February] 1861) was a foremost Ukrainian poet of the 19th century. A writer and artist, he was also a folklorist and ethnographer and a major figure of the Ukrainian national revival of the time. His literary heritage is regarded to be the foundation of modern Ukrainian literature, as well as of the modern Ukrainian language. He is also known for many masterpieces as a painter and illustrator, as well as for his open articulation of the ideas on Ukraine’s political and cultural independence. Source: http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/display.asp?linkpath=pages%5CS %5CH%5CShevchenkoTaras.htm. 49

Ukraine where national consciousness is weak (e.g. Donbas, eastern Ukraine), Kuzio (2002: 14) argues, the exclusive or ‘ethnic’ model “carries potential of a serious domestic crisis, [as well as] threatens an overall process of nation-building.”

Commencing as early as in 1991, both the ‘inclusive’ and ‘exclusive’ models have found their implementation in socio-political and cultural apparatus of Ukraine. The process of the official removal of the communist symbols started from Western regions of Ukraine. Particularly under the presidency of Leonid Kravchuk (presidential term: 1991-1994), dozens of Soviet monuments were toppled, with streets of the smaller cities and villages being re-named as to eliminate both the discursive and architectural evidence of the communist past. However, upon the reign of Presidents Leonid Kuchma (presidential term: 1994-2005) and Viktor Yanukovych (presidential term: 2010-2014), who were the proponents of the inclusive model of the politics of memory (Kozyrska 2016: 3), the process of official ‘decommunization’ was replaced by the legislative measures of conciliatory nature. The legalization of Russian as the second official language is one of the examples of such operations. Starting in 2004, the exclusive model of politics of memory was once again promoted by President Viktor Yushchenko (presidential term: 2005-2010), which was highly criticized within both the Ukrainian and international academic circles (Kozyrska 2016; Kuzio 2008; Shevel 2015). At the same time, however, particularly under the rule of President Yushchenko, the regional authorities of Ukraine possessed extensive power as to both demolish and raise symbols that were reflective of the socio-political and cultural loyalties of the population. The so-called “local politics of memory, tolerated by the government, provided an opportunity for erecting the Statue of Bandera in Lviv, and that of Catherine the Great as the co-founder of the city of Odessa” (Osadchy 2014: 317).

However, unlike in Poland or Czech Republic, since the official collapse of the Soviet Union, no open, national public debate has been taking place on the subject of communism in Ukraine. As early as in 2001, historian Yury Shapoval (2001: 5) detected diversity in views on assessment of the communist past, while literary critic, scholar and politician, Mykola Zhulynsky (2009: 8), acknowledged “the condemnation of Communism and the “purification” of individual and collective memory from its effects as a necessary condition of democratization of the society.” At the same time, analysis of the existing literature on the process of ‘democratization’ of pre-Euromaidan Ukraine demonstrates the existence of a debate on the

50 impossibility of lustration without bridging of the generational divergencies, as well as the necessity of public debates between left and right political forces (e.g. the Communist Party of Ukraine5, or the Svoboda6 party, for instance) (Gilley 2016; Moliar 2016).

As being argued by both the Ukrainian and international scholars working on decommunization and socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (Himka 2015; Kuzio 2017; Marpels 2016; Motyl 2015; Shevel 2016), rapid changes in both the regional and national identity have taken place in Ukraine since year of 2013. The new wave of decommunization, which, symbolically speaking, began with the toppling of the Lenin statue in Kyiv in December of 2013, and was followed by over 500 communist symbols being destroyed within the year of 2014 alone, has emerged into what Kozyrska (2016: 5) claims to be the “radical decommunization of the Ukrainian society.” As was stated by the President Petro Poroshenko, “it is not the communist statues that must be abolished. Communism should be gotten rid of mainly from people’s heads” (Shorichne 2015). Treated as an integral part of ‘Europeanization,’ decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine is also an “element of the humanitarian dimension of national safety” (Kozyrska 2016: 5). In practice, the Institute of National Remembrance (UINR) became the official body that drafted the ‘decommunization laws.’ Since March of 2014 and until September of 2019, it was directed by the historian and controversial figure of the academic circles, Volodymyr Viatrovych7. The laws came into force May 21 of 2015 and are of the following content:

5 The Communist Party of Ukraine is a Ukrainian political party that was known until 1952 as the Communist Party (Bolshevyk) of Ukraine. Within the political framework of the post-Soviet Ukraine, it was founded in 1993 (after being banned in 1991). The communist party was the successor to the Soviet-era Communist Party of Ukraine. The Ministry of Justice is officially allowed to ban the Communist Party from participation in elections since implementation of the 2015 Ukrainian decommunization laws. Source: http://www.ucrdc.org/HA-UKRAINIAN _COMMUNIST _PARTY.html. 6 The "Svoboda” Party (translated as Freedom) is the All-Ukrainian Union party. It was founded in 1991 as the Social-National Party of Ukraine and acts as a proponent of nationalism. It is positioned between the right-wing and the far-right of the political spectrum. The party was particularly popular during the 2009-2010 regional elections in western Ukraine. It won seats in the Ukrainian Parliamentary elections in 2012. Source: https://www.britannica.com/ topic/Svoboda-Party. 7 Volodymyr Viatrovych is a Ukrainian historian, publicist, professor of history and civic activist. He has been heading the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory since March 25, 2014 and until September 18, 2019. He is a major lobbyist and leader of decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. Viatrovych is an author of multiple works on Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA). A highly controversial figure in Ukraine, Viatrovych is particularly criticized in Poland for his refusal to recognize crimes of the UPA committed against the Polish population in Volhynia and Eastern Galicia (1943-1945). Viatrovych 51

● Law No. 2558: “On the condemnation of the communist and national socialist

(Nazi) regimes, and prohibition of propaganda of their symbols.”

● Law No.2538-1: “On the legal status and honoring of fighters of Ukraine’s

independence in the 20th century.”

● Law No.2539: “On remembering the victory over Nazism in the Second World

War.”

● Law No. 2540: “On access to the archives of repressive bodies of the communist

totalitarian regime from 1917-1991.”

Both the Ukrainian and international scholars who examine the aftermath of the laws have argued that the 2015 decommunization policies may cause expansion of the domestic socio-political and cultural polarity, particularly within the context of the ongoing war in Donbas. According to the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory, 877 localities had to be renamed by November 21 of 2015. The cities of Donetsk (with 10 cities, 27 towns, and 62 villages), Dnepr (3 cities, 10 towns and 71 villages) and Kharkiv (27 towns and 70 villages) were the first to be affected in eastern parts of the country. The banning of public expression of “wrong” opinions about the Communist era, communist leaders, or “fighters for Ukraine’s independence” such as Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) has also provoked academic and public debates on the validity of ‘pro- European’ or democratic transitioning of post-Euromaidan Ukraine” (Shevel 2016: 3). Finally, considering an ongoing economic stagnation of Ukraine, urgency of renaming of the streets and the removal of hundreds of Soviet monuments has been questioned by both international and Ukrainian scholars (Hitrova 2016; Motyl 2015; Shevel 2016).

In her analysis of the Ukraine’s infamous decommunization legislation, Oxana Shevel (2016: 2) addresses two primary stands on de-Sovietization policies of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. As of 2016, the author argues, “the process has not led to any form of seizable protests, [with] parties that vocally opposed the laws being unable to convert their stance into any actual

was fired by the administration of President Zelenski in September of 2019. Source: https://www. Unian.ua /politics/ 10690008-hto-takiy-volodimir-v-yatrovich -ta-chim-vidomiy-skandalniy-dekomunizator.html 52 mobilization.” At the same time, “there is no evidence of the widespread support of decommunization within the society, with the reasoning being more economical than ideological” (Shevel 2016: 2). The available polling data records that the majority of the population of Ukraine has been opposing decommunization. According to the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology (2017), “10.5 percent only support decommunization and 89 percent do not (with 34.5 percent [being] strongly opposed to it and 54.6 percent [being] moderately opposed.”

What has become the ‘classical’ academic research on post-Euromaidan ‘Europeanization’ addresses the following three reasons on why, despite salient lack of support of decommunization laws by the Ukrainian population, the protest against decommunization is not publicly visible. According to scholars (Kozyrska 2015; Motyl 2015; Shevel 2016), the occupation of Crimea and military support of the separatist movement in Donbas by the Russian Federation have lowered support for the Soviet era and have increased support for Ukraine’s independence. “An overall raise of pro-Ukrainian patriotic sentiments has made the Ukrainian society more receptive to cutting ties with the communist era,” Shevel (2016: 3) argues further. The second prevailing factor that made decommunization process less disputable is that many of the towns that were to be renamed by the Ukrainian government came under the control of the Russian (e.g. Crimea) or separatist (Donbas) territories. For instance, “out of 54 localities that were to be renamed in the city of Luhansk, only 19 are under Ukrainian-controlled territory” (Shevel 2016: 3). In other words, as the region of potentially highest objection to decommunization policies (as that of the ‘separatist’ Donbas) remains outside the control of the Ukrainian government, the decommunization laws have not been fully enforced.

Finally, the analysis of existing studies of post-Euromaidan decommunization illustrates that “the non-ideological nature of the opposition to decommunization is also one of the primary reasons why the official legislative policies of 2015 have not sparked open ideological or physical resistance” Shevel (2016: 4). As being recorded by the polls, interviews with ordinary citizens, and records of the town hall meetings (Gobert 2017: 5), the inability of ordinary citizens to have a say in both drafting and passing of the laws has “led to a certain public passivity rather than physical protest,” Shevel (2016: 4). In her analysis of the 2015 decommunization laws, Shevel asserts further that implementation of decommunization policies “did not cause the expected strife, primarily due to an overall ‘pro-Ukrainian’ transformation of the civic strata

(caused by the occupation of Crimea and war in Donbas), and geographic exclusion of the most “pro-Soviet” regions (Crimea and Donbas) from the national campaign” (Shevel 2016: 4). At the same time, she further claims that despite the inability of the laws to increase pro-Ukrainian feelings and decrease support for separatism, the laws “gave citizens and activists a say in the process” (Shevel 2016: 4). The laws carried potential “of strengthening civic society in Ukraine, while helping it shed wide swathes of its monumental and Soviet legacies” (Shevel 2016: 4).

Aligning with the articulation of ‘decommunization’ or ‘decolonization’ as being the primary legislative and discursive framework of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, this research objects to the assertion of decommunization laws of post-2013 Ukraine being the mechanism of strengthening of the civic society of the country. An analysis of the collected data discussed in the empirical chapters of this work illustrates that conclusions such as these are not particularly plausible without an in-depth study of the grassroots, ordinary citizens stand on decommunization policies, as well as the governmental modes of their articulation. Within the framework of both academic and socio-political debates on effectiveness, legitimacy and outcomes of the 2015 decommunization laws, this research aims to produce a detailed picture of multiple forms of articulation and implementation of ‘de-Sovietization’ of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. I examine how the process of re-articulation of the country’s past, present and future is taking place within the discursive and physical space as to construct meanings and define the socio-political and cultural reality of post-2013 Ukraine.

3.7. Conclusion: bridging postcolonialism and decommunization

During and after rapid social changes such as the revolutions or democratic transitioning, both intellectual and political elites engage in extracting specific points (or figures) of history that either support or contest the regime in power. The analysis of existing literature on postcolonialism (Fanon 1985; Gunning 2013; Loomba 2015; Said 1994), the post-Soviet space (Ash 2000; Coynash 2015; Stan 2009), and decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine in particular (Hitrova 2016; Kozyrska 2015; Shevel 2016; Wilson 2015) illustrates the desire of academics, politicians and ordinary citizens to come to terms with the dictatorial past. As in other parts of the world, such as Latin America, South Africa or Southern Europe, for instance, the process of democratization of the post-communist space came to mean an attempt to articulate ‘better future’ through either condemnation or justification of specific periods of a country’s history. As was shown above, decades after the official collapse of the Soviet Union, or dismantlement of the colonial empires established prior to World War I, detachment from a negative or controversial past remains the nucleus of the socio-political and cultural contestation.

Within the course of the post-revolutionary genesis, states turn into an exemplary platform for socio-political and cultural transformation. For countries of diverse cultural and political composition, the narrative of ‘unification’ against the external or the internal ‘other’— the colonizer, or the internal rebels, respectively, is articulated through re-assessment of the state’s ‘colonial’ past. The discursive framework of the post-communist central and eastern Europe is one of the examples of such process, where the exemplary project of nation-building is taking place via debating or re-assessment of the past, as well as the creation of a novel symbolic context for the state’s present. The practice of unification of a divided polity is occurring in the name of protection or preservation of physical and cultural borders of the state, where deaths of the country’s citizens are being justified by examples of their heroic ancestors, or, as Anderson (1983: 5) argues, the ‘imagined communities.’

As the early 1990s marked the beginning of ‘decommunization’ of the post-Soviet space, they unraveled the establishment of the countries of central and eastern Europe as independent,

55 sovereign political entities. First, the fall of the communist monuments, as well as change of the street names, became the primary indicators of such ideological transformation in the material, daily surroundings of the states. The process of physical liquidation of old symbols and names of the ‘colonizer’—the Soviet Union or the British Empire, for instance, is a broad, international phenomenon. Both the discursive and physical eradication of the old meanings, or the oppressive regime, is the prerequisite for a new ideological context. Within such a process, multiple symbols of the imperious past (such as statues of the communist leaders) are toppled and empty plinths (or spaces) emerge to be filled with new, liberatory meanings. While the debates on how to deal with an oppressive past have taken place in almost all regions of central and eastern Europe, the general policy of ‘decolonization’ varies depending on the mode of the post-communist transitioning, the geographic proximity of the states to the former ‘colonizer,’ as well as the affinity of the cultural connotations of the ‘post-colonial’ states and the former ‘empire.’

The following empirical chapters of this research address what I argue to be the diversity of the process of decommunization or ‘decolonization’ of the post-Soviet political domain. Expressed in diverse forms of the grassroots political art, vandalism or sanctioned demolition of the communist statues, or renaming of the streets, the process of decommunization is a phenomenon that allows contestation. Within such a process, articulation becomes primary to the meaning-making process that involves engagement of multiple voices, positions and subjects. The unraveling of such voices, as well as defining the lense for resolving ‘tension’ between homogeneity and heterogeneity, hegemony and multivocality, is the objective of the following empirical chapters of this research.

4. Research material and research methods

4.1. Acquiring research material: general aspects

This chapter presents the methodological framework of this research which is an outcome of 4.5 years of fieldwork conducted in western, central, southern, northern and eastern regions of Ukraine. It follows that the method of data acquisition has characteristics of ethnography. In this research, the definition provided by the political anthropologist Edward Bruner (1984: 12) is used to address the concept of ‘ethnography.’ He defines ethnography as “the study of continuity between the story and the experience,” where he eliminates the differences between what he calls a life-as-lived (what actually happened) and a life-as- experienced (the images, feelings, thoughts, and meanings known to the person whose life it is), and a life-as-told (the narrative). Such distinction is particularly important for this research. Being a study of multiple forms of articulation of the political transformation within the material context of a transitioning state, this work incorporates three aspects of Bruner’s understanding of the ethnographic research. I intend to answer similar ‘questions’: to address what has actually happened (life-as-lived), what the images, thoughts or feelings of the participants of socio- political transformations of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine are (life-as-experienced), and what broader narratives (life-as-told), or hegemonic formations, are being articulated within the process of discursive and physical meaning-making. The territorial (or geographic) framework of the conducted research can be illustrated by the following map (Figure 1). It indicates major cities of Ukraine in which the fieldwork was conducted, an approximate measure of the time spent in each location and the amount of data collected. The smaller cities where the fieldwork was conducted are addressed in more detail in the empirical chapters of this work.

Figure 1: Map of Ukraine8: visual presentation of the collected data

The process of conducting fieldwork and acquisition of research material took place on a snowballing basis, which is a common mode of data collection in the ethnographic research. The snowballing sampling method is defined as “the primary data sources nominating another potential primary data sources to be used further in the research” (Beauchemin and González- Ferrer 2011: 5). In particular, the “exponential non-discriminative snowballing sampling method” (Dudovskiy 2012) is used where the first subject involved in the sampling provides multiple referrals. Each new referral is then explored until primary data from sufficient amount of samples (with this research, usually three to four rounds of sampling) are collected (Figure 2).

8 The source of the graphic image of map of Ukraine: https://d-maps.com/m/europa/ukraine/ukraine64.gif 58

Figure 2. Exponential non-discriminative snowballing sampling (Dudovskiy 2012).

On a broader scale, besides the components of the fieldwork such as interviews where the snowballing sampling was used, the method of ‘snowballing’ was also applied in other aspects of the research material collection. The Euromaidan revolution, the exhibition of the political posters or the toppling of communist symbols, for instance, served as points of referral in themselves that, upon my arrival to the place of the event, provided physical (and discursive) references for further research. Moreover, the snowballing technique was also applied to the acquisition of images, videos, and written texts or e-texts that were addressed during the research process. Specifically, the arrival to the field helped to obtain further elements (e.g. political poster exhibitions, graffiti, or interviews) that came to construct the core of the collected data.

The primary, general objective of the conducted fieldwork was to obtain data that reflect modes of ordinary activities or socio-political transformations of the discursive and physical space of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine (2013-2018). Following the traditional framework of the ethnographic research (Burns 1992; Geertz 1973; Lassiter 2005; Dewan 2015), upon my arrival in the field, the emphasis was made on, first, exploring the social phenomena rather than testing a particular hypothesis. In other words, the goal was not to look for generalization of the findings, but rather to consider them in reference to the context of the situation. As being illustrated further within this chapter, ethnography is applied as a qualitative technique to discover and uncover the process of articulation, and then use the theoretical framework to interpret hegemonic meaning-making capture in the data.

Throughout this fieldwork I was both an insider and outsider in the field. As Mikheshin argues (2016: 25), “such dichotomy may be outdated as a simplistic understanding of the participant observation...There are numerous examples of the field research, starting from Malinowski, where the investigator is an obvious other, and finding similarities in the cultural context is encouragingly challenging.” In other cases, “where the ethnographer belongs to the group she or he studies, the dissimilarities are constructed by the fact of the research itself” (Mikheshin 2016: 26). As a native Ukrainian residing outside of Ukraine for over 15 years, prospecting of Ukraine for a foreign university brought certain expectations in terms of production of the research that is both ‘sensitive’ and ‘detached’ from the subject of the analysis—native Ukrainians and their particular socio-political stands. Such context is both pragmatic and beneficial, “since a certain amount of expertise and linguistic fluency is expected” (Mikheshin 2016), and, at the same time, may also limit the possibilities of the researcher at any state of the data collection process.

Within the process of data gathering, the notion of ‘ethnographic time’ (Neyland 2008: 6) was of particular importance—the fact that the data was gathered during a rather turbulent period of the Euromaidan revolution, and later war in Donbas. In terms of specific challenges that were faced throughout the fieldwork, the revolutionary and further military context was one of the primary ones. It set physical limitations on my stay in different regions of Ukraine and, at the same time, promoted navigation between two modes of research operation—what Bate (1997: 12) defines as “thick and quick description.” A term introduced by Clifford Geertz (1973), “thick description involves long-term immersion in the field setting, development of incredibly rich, detailed and (con)textured observations, establishment of close relations with those studied, and incorporation into the ethnographic text of numerous reference points (from myths to historical texts and works of art)” (Neyland 2008: 34). A ‘quick description,’ on the other hand, “can be understood as brief immersion in the field, often directed towards achieving a specific and sometimes quite narrow goal” (Neyland 2008: 34). Nayland (2008: 34) further suggests that quick description often involves visits to several locations and presentation of the findings. My visits, three of over one month in duration, to Maidan in spring-summer of 2014 are the examples of ‘thick description,’ while my 1-2 week long visits of eastern/war borderline regions of Ukraine are those of the ‘quick description.’ In Bate’s terms, ‘thick description is more genuinely ethnographic,’ while Hammersley and Atkinson (1998: 58) also suggest that

“researchers should spend maximum time in the field to understand what is going on.” In such context, the benefits were driven from both, ‘thick’ and ‘quick’ fieldwork. In the case of the former, detailed, diverse data (such as variety of pictures, documents and interview material) was gathered, while in the latter, limited time-set provided a rather professional framework, where compact, straight-to-the-point information (e.g. specific books/videos) was collected within a short time-framework.

A “selective intermittent time mode,” defined by Jeffrey and Troman (2004: 542) as a method where “one devotes some time to doing research (two-three years), but only spends part of that time immersed in the field,” is the method that could best describe the data-collection process of this research in regard to time. The process of taking time to understand what might be important or who might be seen as a reliable source of information could be, and oftentimes is rather time-consuming. Here, due to my opportunity to visit Ukraine multiple times over 4.5 years, the distance between the researcher (myself) and the researched (my interviewees, physical space of Maidan, museums, squares or graffiti sides of different regions of Ukraine, for instance) was established. Such distance had specific effect on communication with my interviewees: particularly close, daily interaction with the protestors of Euromaidan (weeks spent in the tents, squares, or observing Viche9-s ) was hard to maintain after the departure of the participants of Maidan and the researcher (myself) from Kyiv. The unique atmosphere of ‘brotherhood,’ social, cultural and economic equality, which was one of the primary characteristics of the Euromaidan and its aftermath, was challenging to preserve especially upon the return for the follow-up meetings with the interviewees. However, the inability to obtain information through live interaction with the interviewees was compensated for by following online lifestream of the ‘5 Channel’ (one of the primary media sources that has been covering

9 Viche is the term originated during times of the Kyivan Rus’ (882 AD). It is used in Ukraine to address general meeting of the country’s ordinary citizens as to discuss important socio-political or cultural matters faced by the community. The origins of the viche were in a tribal court system, which was a characteristic governing entity for all East Slavic peoples. In terms of its legal authority the viche was a manifestation of popular rule, analogous to the popular meetings held in the cities of ancient Greece and in Western European cities during the Middle Ages. During the Euromaidan revolution (2013-2014), ‘Viche’ was a common political practice where the citizens of Kyiv and other large cities of western, southern, northern and eastern parts of the country gathered together to articulate their socio-political stands. Source: http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/display.asp?linkpath=pages% 5CV%5CI%5C VicheIT.htm. 61

(post)Euromaidan developments of Ukraine), as well as international media sources such as the BBC News, Kyiv Post or Nouvelles de l’Est.

Finally, acknowledgement of the difference between ‘time’ elements of data collection—critical, subjective and substantive distance, came as a crucial point of reference of the conducted fieldwork. What strikes a viewer, or the participant of the event as significant in one moment may not perform the same function in another (e.g. ‘remembering’ or ‘telling’). Equally, in ethical terms, what is ‘appropriate’ to ask or discuss during instances like battles or any force majeure instances as those of Euromaidan or war in Donbas, for instance, came as socially inept within peaceful, ordinary existence.

In the following section of this chapter I examine multiple types of data, explain modes of their collection, and discuss the advantages and drawbacks of the chosen methodological approach.

4.2. Specifics of the fieldwork

The geographic location of the fieldwork was determined both by the means of the snowballing sampling and acuteness of the socio-political developments of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. As a researcher, I usually arrived to the city of Kyiv and then proceeded to a location of extensive socio-political transformation-- revolutionary developments such as the toppling (or preservation) of communist statues, for instance, in the cities of Lviv, Kharkiv, Vinnytsia, Zaporizhzhya, Poltava or Kryviy Rih. As the capital city, Kyiv was the site where the most versatile data has been collected. Particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, citizens of different regions of the country were recorded to articulate their socio-political and cultural stands in the capital: they either created or brought diverse objects of political art to the city of Kyiv in order to ‘address’ the government in power. For that reason, the data collected in Kyiv is addressed in this work as being reflective of both regional and national socio-political developments of Ukraine. While in the field, I collected research material on the subject or

62 location in question. This means that I either interviewed, attended places I was referred to by my interviewees, or did both. In addition, I attended political poster exhibitions, art galleries, and the events of the toppling of the communist symbols.

In total, within the time-framework of over 4.5 years, 14 trips to different regions of Ukraine were made. In terms of intensity of the conducted fieldwork and volume of the collected material, first two-and-half years (2013-2016) could be categorized as the ‘primary’ period of the data-collection process. The duration of my stay in Ukraine varied from two weeks (being the shortest fieldwork trip (March 2017) to two weeks to three months (May 2015/April 2014- June 2014, respectively). Since December of 2013 and until October of 2018, over 200 pictures of the Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square (Kyiv) were taken, 38 interviews with the participants of the Euromaidan revolution itself were conducted, and 11 videos of the Euromaidan revolution taking place in Kyiv and other regions of Ukraine (e.g. Lviv, Vinnytsia, Zaporizhzhya or Kharkiv) were recorded. During and shortly after the Euromaidan revolution (2013-2014), the primary focus was on conducting interviews with the participants of the revolutionary events, as well as taking pictures of the political posters, graffiti and filming of the ongoing speeches of the political, NGO, and religious figures. As the war in Donbas (eastern Ukraine) has escalated and over two million of the internally displaced migrants moved from eastern to different regions of Ukraine, extensive interviews with the displaced population were conducted. The primary objective of such interviews was to record the internally displaced citizens’ stands on the socio-political and cultural developments of post-2013 Ukraine and, in particular, on the process of decommunization.

Following the methodological framework of ethnographic research, an ongoing objective of the fieldwork was to involve observation and participation in the society. Carried on the snowballing basis, the interviewees, as well as multiple objects of the revolution (e.g. tents, posters, or different objects of art) provided both the discursive and physical (geographic) reference to further data. For instance, by following visual signs at the Maidan Nezalezhnosti square that pointed at the location of the artistic installations, I attended multiple exhibitions of the Pinchuk Art Center (Kyiv), as well as highly politicized flashmobs. Both via the art centers and public exhibitions of the revolutionary posters, literature and images that documented the socio-political, economic and cultural transformation of post-2013 Ukraine were collected. As

63 such, from early 2014 and until summer of 2017, 8 exhibitions of the Pinchuk Art Center on the Euromaidan revolution, war in Donbas and multiple forms of ‘decommunization’ were attended (the collected visual material is listed in the ‘Appendix’ section of this work).

Upon the official, physical termination of the Euromaidan revolution (summer of 2014), the methodology of data-collection (the snowballing basis) and mode of analysis (layered textual analysis-- discussed in sub-section 4.5.1. of this chapter) were preserved. The discursive nature of the data, however, has changed. As being illustrated by the collected data discussed further in the empirical chapters of this work, political posters and interaction with historical objects of public space (e.g. toppling or preservation of the Soviet monuments) remained the primary spatial means for articulation of the citizens’ political and cultural stands. However, if during and shortly after the Euromaidan revolution, political posters, for instance, were produced primarily by the ordinary citizens, the research material collected in summer 2014- onwards illustrates the phenomenon of political cooptation of the public space by the discursive and physical constructions of the state. Specifically, the government-installed political posters that promote the war in Donbas and nationalization of the country’s past via glorification of controversial figures of the past, such as Stepan Bandera (1909-1959) or members of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) (1942-1949/1956) became the dominant visual and ideological narrative. On a practical level, the posters were easy to access since they evolved into the dominant visual narrative and were present at central squares of the cities, open-air exhibitions, as well as appeared on the standboards of the highways and metro stations.

In general terms, the research material can be divided into the following contextual or thematic categories:

1) Research material on the Euromaidan revolution (2013- summer 2014): pictures, videos, interviews, artistic exhibitions or posters that record diverse civic stands on the post-2013 revolutionary developments in different regions of Ukraine.

2) Research material on war in Donbas (2014-2017) that presents visual and narrative articulation of the ‘colonizer’: pictures, interviews, videos of the artistic installations that capture both ordinary citizens’ and governmental stands on the military conflict in eastern Ukraine and its socio-political and cultural aftermath.

3) Research material on both the spontaneous and institutionalized ‘decommunization’ (2013- 2018) that address multiple forms of interaction with physical and discursive objects of the communist past (e.g. toppling or preservation of monuments of Lenin, visual and discursive emergency of figures of the Ukrainian nationalist past (e.g. Bandera or members of the UPA), change of the street names or passing of the official decommunization laws).

4.3. Interviews and ethics

As of 2014-2017, the total of 64 interviews were conducted during multiple trips to western, central, southern, northern and eastern parts of Ukraine. In general terms, the interviews express distrust of politicians, reveal anger, excitement, hope and despair, and disperse into thousands of voices and, at the same time, articulate a common discursive denominator: a thematic umbrella of basic daily survival, collective mourning and pull of Ukraine between Europe and Russia. I intentionally chose to examine interviews (and data such as photo or video material) that present a general view of the socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine as diverse, and at times even fragmented. The implication of choosing otherwise— prospecting self-affirmative interviews that support popular stands on West-East division of Ukraine, oppression of Russian/Ukrainian-speaking population in eastern/western areas of the country, or denote ‘uniformity’ of Maidan would suggest mere confirmation of popular clichés; it would add no particular value to existing academic discussion (Westdal 2015; Oldfield 2014; Fedirko 2014; Vakhovska 2015; Zhurzhenko 2015) of what this research affirms to be the versatile modes of decommunization of post-2013 Ukraine.

During multiple fieldtrips to Ukraine, semi-structured interviews were conducted where open-ended questions were posed as to allow freedom of expression of the interviewees’ views. During trips to Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, Myrgorod, Poltava, Dnipro or Zaporizhzhya, general questions were posed as to identify primary motives for one’s involvement (or restraint) from the protest, military activities, toppling of the communist monuments, or the production and

65 spread of political posters. In particular, I was interested in inquiring as to one’s stands on history, political positioning or ideology— to examine points of view that seemed to be dominating at a particular moment/or region, as well as to analyze the socio-political stands of the individuals who composed the minority-- were unheard or suppressed throughout and after ‘Maidans’ (both the Kyivan and regional protests).

Within the context of the Euromaidan revolution, considering “multitude of completely different people that would never cross paths ordinarily, precisely the intimate presence in one place causing to correlate one’s views and interests with those of others” (Nakonechna 2014: 3), participation of people who relocated to the squares of Kyiv as early as in December of 2013, or traveled all the way to Donbas from western or central Ukraine in 2014- present was expressed as an enormous sacrifice. At the same time, as being recorded in the collected data, participation in the multiple forms of the Euromaidan revolution and its aftermath was expressed as a fully conscious act. When a peaceful November 2013 protest began, the primary cost of involvement into the protest was that of homelessness.

The day of the second major fieldtrip to Maidan, May 24th of 2014, emerged as a distinct visual imprint within the data-collection process. It is discussed in this chapter in detail as an element of the collected data that provides extensive textual (both the discursive and ‘visual’) narrative of specific socio-political transformations of a (post)revolutionary state. It also underlines potential physical obstacles that a researcher conducting fieldwork in a country that undergoes revolution may face (e.g. limited living conditions or potentially unsafe environment). Already peaceful, yet still full of protesters, tents, posters, graffiti, both the Ukrainian and international political, media and social figures, the square of Maidan has been recorded as a living embodiment of physical complexity of the event. Specifically, the visual data collected during April-June of 2014 reveals the following: covered in ashes, burned and, at parts, completely destroyed, Khreschatyk street and the Independence Square were ‘scarred.’ The faces and scenes recorded by the videos (as well as interviews conducted during my stay at Maidan) expose struggle, ongoing obstruction and yet, immense unity and hope. The solidarity of ordinary citizens was apparent particularly within the framework of daily living conditions that, I argue, were scarcely covered by both media and academic sources (Bikov 2017; Kakhidze 2015; Levytsky 2014). One of the most intense experiences for me as a researcher was entering

66 one of the tents. Owned by an engineer from Lviv named Stepan (as I came to know later on during the interview conducted with this person), the tent was designed to host about 15 people at most and, within the realities of Maidan, accommodated over 50 individuals. The couches (or, in most cases, handmade sleeping space) were placed side-by-side to create a ‘bed’ that would hold as many protestors as possible. An overly long ‘table’ with varied types of canned food (all brought to the protesters mostly by locals from Kyiv, as well as participants from other regions of the country) was one of the most common objects of the ‘household’ surrounding of the protestors’ tents. The amount of work that was invested into accommodation of such space into that of both activism and day-to-day residency was literally colossal.

As extreme as such living conditions could seem, especially during the winter of 2013- 2014 and then exceptionally hot late spring of 2014, the life of the revolution, as Stepan and other interviewees describe, was perceived as a “blessing rather than a curse” (Interviews. May 18, May 20, May 21, June 2, June 5, June 12, 2014. Maidan. Kutkina). The challenge of such conditions was taken as a “given, neither rebutted nor questioned” (Interview. Petro Mohylny. Kyiv. May 30th, 2014. Kutkina). Within the scope of 24 interviews conducted with the participants of the Euromaidan revolution in May-June 2014, the physical presence at Maidan ‘was one of the primary modes of articulation of the ordinary citizens’ stands against the aggressor-- at first, the President Yanukovych government, and then the official aggressor-- the occupant or the Russian Federation.’ Specifically, at times of an ongoing Russian media- campaign, which portrayed Ukrainians as violent, savage transgressors, daily living conditions of the protestors were recorded to be more than just basic physical needs being met. Maintenance of the tents, careful positioning of posters, and later on, attentive removal of debris from the Maidan Nezalezhnosti, Khreschatyk, and other streets of the protest, all done on a purely voluntary basis, displayed a high level of civic consciousness and development. Such acts, as a prominent writer, philosopher and public activist, Yurii Andrukhovych, argues in Euromaidan: Chronicle of Feelings (2014: 43), “is what constructs the basis for civilized, European identity.” During 2.5 months of fieldwork conducted in Kyiv during and shortly after the Euromaidan revolution, the space of the protest was experienced as both the domain of physical challenge and, at the same time, the space of virtually unrestricted freedom of speech. It was embraced as a personal choice to support, care or protect the other at the expense of one’s own physical comfort, safety and, at times, even life.

In general terms, the cities of Kyiv, Chernihiv, Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, Dnipro, Poltava, Myrhorod, Odessa, Vinnystya and Lviv are the primary geographic locations where the data on socio-political, cultural and economic developments of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine were gathered. The methodological approach of a snowballing basis and, in particular, that of staying at the tents of Maidan, filming of the Automaidan demonstrations10 or interviewing activists who were involved in demolition or preservation of monuments of Lenin, allowed access to data that was versatile in its contextual nature. I was able to interview people of diverse, oftentimes opposing socio-political and cultural backgrounds, and to document multiple forms of articulation of both similar and opposing political stands. As I illustrate further in the empirical chapters of this research, the data reveal construction of hegemonic practices that carried “an attempt to establish particular relations and orders of meaning” (Palonen 2018: 101).

At the time of the data collection, the ethical guidelines of the British Educational Research Association (BERA) were used. Before proceeding with the fieldwork, I familiarized myself with the ethical guidelines and strictly followed the rules in respect to protection of privacy of the interviewees. The interviewees’ anonymity was guaranteed by replacement of their names with acronyms or, if requested by the interviewees, substitution of their real names with the imaginary forenames. The security of the participants was insured by nondisclosure of their names, or their political and cultural identity. In broader terms, only the persons who expressed voluntary consent were interviewed; they were informed of the fact that they were approached as part of the academic research project, and were told the location of further publication of this study-- Finland. The collected interviews were stored as written text or recorded audio, and were kept private both during and after the data-collection process.

10 Automaidan is a socio-political movement that began in Kiev during the Euromaidan Revolution (2013-2014) and has spread to different cities of Ukraine. The original objective of the movement was to contribute to the overthrow of the corrupt regime of President Victor Yanukovych. After the Euromaidan revolution, the movement became the springboard for the socio-politically active volunteers who continue fighting corruption and stand for the reformation of the legislative and executive branches of the government. Source: http://www.automaidan. org.ua/aboutus.html. 68

4.4. Images, videos, and printed texts

In addition to interviews, the foremost research material collected between December 2013 and September 2018 is composed of:

● Photographs (over 400 in total) taken by me on graffiti, posters, statues (toppled and preserved), previous sites of the statues (e.g. empty plinths), street signs, and the bookshelves;

● videos of protests, toppling of communist statues, spontaneous demonstrations, the Automaidan rallies, the presidential inauguration (Kyiv 2014), political poster exhibitions;

● and multiple spontaneous chats with the ordinary citizens that were recorded by me in different regions of Ukraine.

In the following, a general overview of the images, videos and books that were obtained during the fieldwork is provided. Within this research, pamphlets, books, printed collections of images and videos (documentaries) were gathered across Ukraine. The data was collected during my visits to various exhibitions, museums and meetings that addressed multiple forms of the socio-political and cultural transformations of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. With an initial objective of examining the grassroots narratives of the state undergoing the process of decommunization, documents, journals, at times even diaries of artists, writers, political philosophers working on (post)Euromaidan Ukraine were collected. As a rule, they were obtained as a result of my arrival to different cities of the country in an attempt to follow major socio-political events and interview their participants. I would take photos and videos of the protests, public events, such as ordinary citizens’ debates during the presidential inauguration (June 7, 2014, Kyiv), the Viche or the political poster exhibitions installed at central squares of the cities, for instance.

In this chapter, I refer to the Pinchuk Art Center (Kyiv), an international center for contemporary art, as to one of the primary sources where most controversial, thought-provoking artistic material on the Euromaidan revolution and its aftermath has been collected. An open

69 platform for artists, the art work and the society of Ukraine as a whole, as well as an international audience, the center was the primary location that carried interactive exhibitions of critical analysis of existing media and academic coverage of post-2013 Ukraine. During 4.5 years of the conducted fieldwork, it was the primary ‘check-point’ for the politically-minded artists, civic activists and ordinary citizens who were willing to share their knowledge and personal experiences of creating art as means for articulation of their socio-political and cultural stands. In total, 18 books, over 38 pamphlets and posters have been purchased in Kyiv only since my arrival to Ukraine in December of 2013 and until October of 2018. This and other material offered both anonymous and personalized space for expression of manifold socio-political and cultural views. The above reference material also served as a means for the mobilization of the masses for what emerged as diverse political action: it ranges from the revolutionary events to the military (war) activities or multiple forms of de-Sovietization (e.g. toppling of monuments of Lenin or re-naming of the streets).

In January 2015, while attending one of the exhibitions, exceptional work called “Плохой-Хороший Человек” (“Bad-Good Human”) of the Ukrainian artist Alevtina Kakhidze was purchased. An active participant of the Euromaidan revolution, born just ten kilometers from Viktor Yanukovych’s hometown—Enakievo, Kakhidze (2015) declares about her multi- level, Ukrainian, Georgian and West European identity, and touches upon the subjects of war, protest, and ‘Soviet [cultural] incarnation.’ In what seems to be a simple notebook, perennial antithesis of meaning, construction and definition of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is explored. One of the many objects of the Ukrainian political art, it offers space for individual interpretation and implementation of further concepts that are integral for this research: construction (or the discursive articulation) of ‘us’ and ‘them,’ the ‘local’ or the ‘other,’ the ‘colonized’ and the ‘colonizer.’

An example of the snowballing data-collection process, an insert of this book included a list of popular artists of the Ukrainian, post-Soviet and international domain who were directly involved in participation, analysis and further artistic ‘re-creation’ of the post-revolutionary events. Using the snowballing method for contacting artists and finding out about their work, I was also able to obtain actual samples of the artists’ creation (books, pamphlets, posters, and paintings), and to compile the authors’ (name) list as to then contact and meet prominent

70 political artists in person. The vast portion of the data that are discussed further in the empirical chapters of this research provides a multidimensional view on the construction of the hegemonic formations and the process of meaning-making as a whole within the Ukrainian post- revolutionary space. It presents ‘raw’ records (ex: pictures/graffiti/personal journals), gives space for interaction (participatory items of the exhibitions/ e.g the ‘Strike Poster’ project) and triggers critical thinking via analysis of the discursive authenticity, uncertainty and, at times, provocation.

Particularly during interaction with both the Ukrainian and international political artists, such as Kristina Norman and Meelis Muhu (Estonia) (February-March 2014), Alevtina Kakhidze (Ukraine, March 2014) or Egor Petrov (Ukraine, May 2016), I was also introduced to profound documentaries on the Euromaidan revolution, war in Donbas and an overall process of decommunization. ‘What motivates the Ukrainians to place their own bodies against the police cordons?’ or ‘where do opinions diverge and when does solidarity triumph?’ (One World, 2015) are one of the many questions that were raised by the film of Roman Bondarchuk, Euromaidan. Rough Cut (2014). As I discuss further within this research, from a protest to national military activities in Donbas, multiple forms of decommunization also have been captured by the cameras of both the Ukrainian and international documentarians. In this chapter, I refer to particular documentaries that, I argue, present the most vivid cases of “an explosion of revived dignity, the euphoria of freedom, pain of awareness of the cost, and [most importantly] birth of modern Ukrainian nation” (The Institute of Documentary Film, 2015). These documentaries were reviewed extensively and used as the supplementary data for deepening of the analysis.

● All Things Ablaze (2013) (Directors: Oleksandr Technynskyi, Aleksey Solodunov, Dmitry Stoykov)

● Euromaidan. Rough Cut (2014) (Director: Roman Bondarchuk)

● The Female Faces of the Revolution (2014) (Director: Nataliya Pyatygyna)

● The Winter That Changed Us (2014) (The joint project of "1 +1" Production and Creative Union of Babylon 130

● Maidan (2014) (Director: Sergei Loznitsia)

● Maidan. The Art of Resistance (2014) (Director: Antin Mukharskiy)

In general terms, documentaries, interviews, books, photos and videos generate a net of multiple meanings. Such meanings are being articulated on the streets, squares, as well as private homes. Without the diversity of the data (e.g. documentaries, political posters, interviews or books) and modes of its collection (e.g. videos recording, picture-taking or interviews), a holistic, complete picture of subjects, textures, images, as well as methods involved in articulation and sustainability of the socio-political and cultural developments of post- revolutionary Ukraine would be hardly feasible. Personal understanding of miscellaneous, at times contradictory rationale of the protestors, regional particularities of the citizens’ demands, expectations and visions of the past, future and present, as well as the historical foundation for both regional and national context of the state, carry an additional and vital role for the in-depth analysis of the process of (post)Euromaidan decommunization.

4.5. The methodology of examining the research material

4.5.1. Layered textual analysis

Grounded in the theoretical framework of discourse analysis (Laclau and Mouffe 1985) that addresses hegemony as the phenomena being mediated through discourse (Cox 2019; Modelski 1999; Thompson 2015), this research implies ‘living,’ ‘experiencing’ and ‘telling’ as methodological elements of articulation. The research material is collected on a snowballing basis; its analysis illustrates the socio-political and cultural multivocality of the Ukrainian population. As I address further in the empirical chapters of this work, the collected material is ‘polyglossic’ (Bakhtin 1981). It enables examination of decommunization as both contextually and visually-diverse phenomenon that amalgamates demolition of the communist legacy at the governmental, cultural and mental level. The research material also exposes diversity of the positions or modes of articulation of the same events and provides examples of what I argue to

72 be the construction of the ‘imagined communities’ (Anderson 1983). In broader terms, the collected research material illustrates attempts of establishment of particular relations and order of meanings— construction of hegemonic formations that presuppose counter-hegemonic constructions because of the ultimately contested nature of the formations indicated first.

In examining the research material, I use the specific method of ‘layered textual analysis’ (Covert 2014). Developed on Collier’s (2001: 12) method of drawing analytical relationship between photos, narratives and physical objects of civic space as to “produce a complete sequence of both the discursive and visual layers of the findings,” layered textural analysis brings together images, texts and physical objects (e.g. statues) to provide comprehensive understanding of different types of data. This method consists of structural analysis of the narratives present in the interview text or visual analysis of the photos, and guiding questions related to the content and relationship of the photos, objects and narratives. As being illustrated by Figure 3 (Covert 2014), an outcome of the ‘structural narrative analysis’ (Layer 1), the ‘visual analysis’ (Layer 2) and the ‘thematic analysis’ (Layer 3), leads to construction of a broader framework that includes interpretations and findings of the research. Such findings, Covert and Koro-Ljungberg (2014: 310) argue, “consist of individual experiences, images, objects or texts that reflect complex connections between matter and thought.” Further on, according to Covert and Koro-Ljungberg (2014: 311), “the multilayered analysis leads to understandings and representations of the participants’ learning and interpretation of cultural differences, and allows us to examine photo-narrative events or the participants’ individual meaning-making processes.”

Figure 3. Layered textual analysis (Covert (2014)

Within this research, general ‘content’ or framework of analysis suggested by Covert is kept, as it matches the nature of research material of this work (e.g. simultaneous examination of the interview (‘Layer 1’) and visual (‘Layer 2’) data combined with a broader thematic analysis (‘Layer 3’) of the research). However, within this work, the numbering of the ‘layers’ is changed: the ‘structural narrative analysis’ and the ‘visual analysis’ is made parallel (or both labeled as ‘Layer 1’) and the ‘thematic analysis’ is marked as ‘Layer 2’. Such changes reflect what I argue to be the coequality of the narrative and visual data: within this work, both interviews and images (e.g. political posters, images of the toppled communist statues or graffiti) are of equal importance for the analysis and were collected simultaneously in terms of the time-framework of the conducted fieldwork. The ‘thematic analysis,’ thereon, could be defined as ‘Layer 2’ as to unify interview and visual data under the umbrella of common analytical themes. The ‘interpretations and findings,’ as being shown by the original diagram of Covert (2014), would be left intact and provide space for presentation of the methodological and theoretical results of this research.

4.5.2. Narrative analysis

Finally, in this work, I use the concept of narrative to create a broader framework for categorization of the collected data. If one thinks of normal, everyday storytelling, Hyvärinen (2008: 4) argues, “narrative must be looked at as a strategic performance within specific and multileveled context that orders embodiment, situation, and discourse.” As this research explores the implementation of political identity transformations that occur via multiple forms of discursive (and physical) articulation, I suggest to examine the content of interviews, videos and images (e.g. photos or posters) as a means for construction of the discursive narratives. The toppled monuments of the Soviet era, political photo exhibitions or videos (documentaries) on the socio-political developments of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine ‘narrate’ the ‘plot’ of decommunization-- serve as multiple modes of the political performance of the state that eliminates ideological and physical remnants of its Soviet past. In his analysis of the ‘Narrative form and narrative content,’ Hyvärinen (2008: 5) argues further that “the storytelling is performed at multiple levels of local cultures and creates the imagined communities that are made real within the narrative process.” This research aligns with this statement. It suggests to apply the narrative as a methodological lens that, I argue, allows us to detect particular experiences of the citizens’ daily lives and address multiple means of articulation of their socio- political and cultural stands.

Within this research, ‘articulation’ stands for creation of popular visuals of the revolution, for instance (e.g. graffiti, slogans, or posters of post-Euromaidan Ukraine that are examined further in this work), as well as for dismantling of physical elements of the city landscape (e.g. the demolition of Lenin statues). In broader terms, contextual examination of such narratives is used in this work for defining mechanisms of establishment of multiple hegemonic formations that lead to establishment of imagined communities.

David Herman (1999) suggests in his proposal for “social narratology” that “the distinction between story and narrative discourse is one of the most important elements that social scientists could and should adopt from the literary study of a narrative” (Hyvarinen 2008: 10). ‘Story,’ in this language, refers to “the presumed ‘sequence of events’—that is, the ‘what’

75 or ‘content’ of narrative” (Hyvarinen 2008: 11). Instead, a new concept of the ‘narrative discourse,’ or shortly ‘narrative,’ Herman (1999: 5) claims further, refers to “the how or way of narration— the order, mood, voice, distance, style in which the events are accounted for in the narrative.” Within the context of some of the post-Soviet states—distinct, at times opposing positions on the country’s socio-political and cultural advent, the story or narrative has not been available as such. By using ethnography as the methodology that involves both observation and participation in the society, this chapter suggested approaching of the ‘how,’ or what I define to be the examination of multiple modes of articulation of the discursive narratives.

4.6. Conclusions

The primary objective of this chapter was to provide the methodological foundation for the analysis of the collected data. This chapter considered multiple methods of acquiring and studying the collected data as to address ethnographic fieldwork. Specifically, the method of ‘layered textural analysis’ (Covert and Koro-Ljungberg 2014) was introduced as an effective methodological tool for examination different types of data. Within this method, images (e.g. photos) and narratives (e.g. graffiti) were addressed to produce a sequence of visual and discursive layers of the findings. As one of the primary ‘objectives’ of ‘layered textual analysis’ is to provide methodological framework for analysis of the data that are diverse in their nature (e.g. video, photo or interview material), this chapter suggested this method as a particularly relevant tool for the examination of the articulation and implementation of multivocality within a politically and socially heterogeneous state.

This chapter also examined particular examples of the ethnographic data-collection process that ranged from the long-term (two months and over) to short-term (two to three weeks) stays in the cities of Kyiv, Lviv, Poltava, Zaporizhzhya or Kharkiv, to name a few. Specifically, collected between December 2013 and October 2018, the research material includes interviews, photos and videos, as well as printed data such as political pamphlets and books. The images,

76 videos and texts (e.g. photos of the political poster exhibitions, documentaries on the Euromaidan revolution or books) that were produced by civic activists, politicians, or political artists, are also included in the discussion of the data that were obtained on a snowballing basis.

In this chapter, the qualitative analytical approach was suggested to elicit physical, psychological and socio-political conditions of the interviewees. The views of the citizens of different regions of Ukraine on the ideological and physical transformations of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine (e.g. the Euromaidan revolution, war in Donbas or the process of decommunization discussed further in the empirical chapters of this work) were explored. The data-collection process took place on the streets, in the tents (e.g. the Euromaidan revolution), or at the squares, for instance, where political poster exhibitions were placed. It also occurred at the political art museums and political institutions (such as local ‘Rada-s’- the governmental/administrative units). The data-gathering process included extensive trips between 18 cities and over 30 villages of Ukraine. Within each interview, the participants came from a variety of backgrounds, namely women and men from both urban and rural settings, as well as various ethnic, linguistic (Ukrainian and Russian-speaking) and cultural strata. Conducted on the snowballing basis, primarily due to the intensity and speed of development of the events, as well as the novelty of the issues (e.g. the war in Donbas, displacement of over 2 million of Ukrainians from eastern to other regions of Ukraine, or the scale of the official decommunization laws-- massive toppling or preservation of the communist statues), the interviews, picture- and video-taking were particularly effective modes of data-collection.

Composed within the framework of nonjudgmental, non-threatening wording or means of video-taking, as well as open, positive attitude toward the subject, all data were recorded and fully transcribed in original languages (Ukrainian and Russian). All transcripts were then thematically coded and analyzed in their original spoken languages. Due to the vast volume of the collected material, images of the posters and graffiti are the primary data that are listed in the ‘appendix’ of this work as the visual, most self-explanatory source.

The following chapters of this research proceed with analysis of the collected data as to unravel the complexity of the meaning-making process of post-Euromaidan Ukraine and to examine how the process of the removal of physical elements of the city landscape is used for establishment of the hegemonic formations. The ‘chapter 5,’ in particular, provides the

77 explanatory foundation for the empirical chapters of this research: it engages with a brief historical overview of the role of the political poster within the Soviet (communist) space, the tradition of the architectural cultivation of the communist leaders, and the background of the historical memory.

5. The poster, roots of the Lenin cult and the historical memory

5.1. Introduction

In his article entitled “Events: Visual Studies Today: the Power of Images,” Kresimir Purgar (2017: 10) defines the pictorial turn as a “set of symptoms which we can notice in the western postcapitalist societies, and which are characterized by the domination of the image and the visual communication in everyday life.” As the discussion of multiple modes of visual culture-- fine art, cinema, the internet, performance, photography or television - evolves among the authors working in this field (e.g. Dikovistskaya 2005; Mitchell 1994; Mirzoeff 1999), the general argument that these theoreticians articulate in their studies of visuals is the following: the old language paradigm is being replaced (or “has been replaced” already by the new image paradigm (Dikovistskaya (2005: 14). What that means is that within the framework of visual studies and beyond the ‘image paradigm’ becomes the “new visual subjectivity” (Dikovistskaya (2005: 15). While the ordinary citizens, politicians or artists are constructing or looking at objects of art, they themselves are being observed or looked at. The objects are being created through different modes of viewing and multiple interrelation of visual and physical facts. Such process, the authors of the visual studies argue further, is a modern socio-political occurrence that “does not have a defined social programme, vocation or a higher goal except the one aiming for a better understanding of images and for the study of the mechanism of the visual construction of reality” (Purgar 2017: 12). Not objecting to a claim that “visual studies remain focused on images, regardless of what historical, political, artistic, textual or extratextual context it is set in” (Purgar 2017: 12), this chapter provides further foundation for examining how the construction of reality with images is a social, highly political act. In particular, this chapter sets the historical basis for the empirical chapters of this research that address decommunization as the meaning-making process. Within such a process multiple forms of political art (e.g. exhibition of the political posters, toppling or preservation of monuments or creative renaming of the streets) are one of

79 the primary elements of the hegemonic formations. This chapter looks at how the political poster of central and eastern Europe, as well as political art as a whole, was designed to patronize and, at the same time, give space to new social and political constructions. It examines how images are the site of establishment of politics and how they could be used by the state to control and define lives of the ordinary citizens. By addressing political context of the posters of the communist era, this chapter looks at how the poster of central and eastern Europe emerged to articulate power and establish political tradition of the government controlling the discursive, ideological and physical space of the state. The chapter further examines what could be seen as both the cause and effect of state-control over physical and ideological domain: the personality cult. Both the political and cultural link between the state and the people was set by romanticization of the communist leaders, specific socio-political events, and the ordinary public. The final section of this chapter (5.6.) examines multiple stands on memory being both the ‘collective’ and ‘individual’ act that is used by the state to construct its ideological and socio- political framework. Addressing the discussion on memory studies (Brockmeier 2002; Duara 1996; Hodgkin and Radstone 2003; Yekelchyk 2004), it looks at how memory is used as a social practice of the imagining that connects ideological and physical modes of civic existence through diverse interpretations of the past. In broader terms, this chapter sets a foundation for the following empirical chapters of this research by outlining the socio-political practices of the past that, I argue, have been preserved by the government of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (2014- 2018). The images, statues or street-names are used as means for articulation of multiple stands on the process of decommunization which still carries elements of the old Soviet regime. The discussion of the Soviet political poster and its role in the socio-political context of the state provides an important framework for the data addressed in the empirical chapters of this work. The political posters are means of the meaning-making process, and provide both physical and discursive space for establishment of diverse hegemonic formations. In particular, the political posters of post-2013 Ukraine serve as powerful space for articulation of messages of ‘decommunization,’ and, at the same time preserve substantial traces of the communist characteristics: the state continues to articulate its political narratives within the space of the posters; the enemy or the ‘other’ is being constructed by means of political posters and is being used to justify the armed conflict in Donbas. As being examined further in more detail, despite

80 dramatic violence and high mortality rates on the territories of the conflict (Donbas), the citizens, both men and women of post-Euromaidan Ukraine are portrayed in a manner similar to that of the Soviet Union. ‘Happy,’ ‘patient’ and ‘freedom-loving,’ they are proud citizens who are willing to sacrifice their lives for the territorial integrity of the state and the bright future of their country. Finally, explicit portrayal of individuals that are to ‘represent’ the nation is occurring within the visual space of modern Ukrainian posters. At the same time, however, at the grassroots level, political posters of post-2013 Ukraine construct what I argue to be a new narrative of diversity of the socio-political and cultural positions.

5.2. Methodology of the poster: socialist realism and the thematic context of the poster

Produced as affirmations or challenges of the communist ideology, political posters of central and eastern Europe articulate the discourse of power. They acquire “manifold relations of power which permeate, characterize and constitute the social body…[which] cannot itself be established, consolidated nor implemented without the production, accumulation, circulation and functioning of a discourse” (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 5). Formulated by both ordinary citizens and the government, the discourses articulated within the political posters carry potential of rendering citizens into the imaginary identities. It could be stated that the very essence of the political poster, therefore, lies in the production of official narratives as means for claiming legitimacy of the state or institutionalization of a particular value system for everyday life. The socialist poster, embracing specific messages or ideas of the state, became a powerful mechanism for ‘defining’ ordinary citizens. Operating at both the physical and discursive space of the state, it presented power as the primary tool of ‘democratic governance,’ multiculturalism and ‘friendship of the peoples.’ It addressed control as an integral part of democratization process, “repression as a condition of freedom, privilege as necessary for

81 equality, and the humanistic claims of Marxism-Leninism as the justification of human rights abuses” (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 5). Though to a lesser extent, the poster has been used by both the government and ordinary citizens of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine as a powerful tool of meaning-making. Examined in more detail in the following parts of this chapter, the poster provides space for articulation of multiple, at times contrasting hegemonic meanings. As both contradictory and analogous meanings are being formulated, both the ordinary citizens and the government are using political posters to communicate the transformation from the old to the new political regimes. Within such a process, heterogeneity of interpretations of the country’s socio-political course is being articulated through diverse forms of the visuals. In the communist tradition of using posters one of the primary visual narratives was that of the ‘new happy people.’ Such narrative is also found in multiple posters and graffiti of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, where images of soldiers of war in Donbas are also presented within a romanticized, ‘happy individuals’ framework. Rooted in the context of decades of psychological trauma and wars, the political posters of the communist era articulated an image of how the party saw itself and the nation to be. Though rarely cited, the ground point of both early and mid-20th century Bolshevik posters was a “visual script” (Bonnel 1999: 14)—a visual, social space for a new citizen who was to appear a counterpart of his or her pre-revolutionary antithesis. Dedicated egalitarian workers of the new ruling class were to rise up out of social injustice, inequality and historical contradictions of capitalism. Dramatic social change would emerge as to affect both emotional and physical state of the Soviet citizens and to transform the society into an army of happy and physically strong individuals. Within the framework of socio-political and cultural rivalry of the Soviet Union and the West, the subjects of the Soviet posters were portrayed as virtuous and healthy. Produced as a response to political and social demands of the state, the poster was also used as the space for contextualization of power relations between the political elites and the ordinary citizens. All the way since the times of Lenin, the need to create and promote heroes has been one of the primary features of the communist poster. The dominant idea behind cultivation or the process of ‘hero’-envisioning was that the figure to be praised was to be appealing and recognized by the ordinary Soviet public. It had to be strong and to signify both care and protection. For these criteria to be met, one of the most popular symbols of the Soviet state was a figure of a soldier.

Embracing both the urban masculinity of the industrial life and the rural, more feminine qualities of the countryside, a soldier of the Red Army is one of the central figures of the Soviet poster. It signifies both the protection and omnipresence of the state. Viktor Koretsky’s poster (Picture 1) Our flag, victorious flag from 1945 is a concise illustration of the matter. Particularly during and after World War II, traditional characteristics of women being ‘weak’ and in need of protection or care were also blurred. The Soviet poster articulated women as equally powerful, strong individuals who were capable of performing factory, agricultural or military work while being mothers and educators of their children. In contrast to the political posters of the 1920s, Bazylevych (2010: 4) illustrates further, women of post-WWII Soviet space were depicted as those “surrounded by books rather than family or children; in the background are the socialist institutions that allowed for their emancipation, such as kindergartens, vocational schools, and factories.” As such, the language of the political poster reflects both social and gender transformations that become politically visible through both the discursive and visual framework of political art.

5.3. The rivals of the state: defining enemies via posters

Finally, within the process of unification of the nation around discursive segments of ideology, political posters were also used as visual points for creating psychological and moral standards that reinforced the socio-political policies of the communist block. As part of the context of the socio-political rivalry of the Soviet Union and the West, for instance, consolidation of the communist space was to occur around the figure of the common enemy. To justify the internal political repressions, the posters pictured the ‘other’ as the source of oppression or the enemy. In such terms, the war on the ‘other’ was both the discursive and physical maneuver that was launched by the Soviet state to distract its citizens from the domestic political and social disparities. The ‘enemy’ or the other could be both the internal and the

83 external one—the bourgeois or noble-origin Soviet citizen, or the foreign, American ‘imperialist.’ In their discussion of the socialist visual legacy, Aulich and Sylvestrova address Czechoslovakia as one of the places where the category of the ‘enemy’ included diverse social categories. The representatives of the Church, for example, “possessed a spiritual faith and institutional structure [that was] antipathetic to the communist atheist worldview being based on dialectical materialism” (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 179). The Second World War, on the other hand, left extensive heritage of the international enemies who ‘threatened’ the communist system with their liberal, bourgeois ideals. Particularly during the 1940s and 1950s, many of the ‘internal enemies’ of the socialist system were executed, sentenced to prolonged periods in prison or used as slave labor in excruciating labor camps. As such, the class and ideological struggle became the subject of major propaganda campaign that was visualized in political posters of that time. The caricature of the Kukrinisky group (Picture 2), Pest ridgeway in western Europe! Maximum vigilance and battle readiness protects our GDR from 1952 illustrates such matter prevailing on European socialists-controlled space. As the atmosphere of animosity and fear rooted within the Soviet society, the political poster became a powerful tool for promotion of watchfulness and civic awareness. The militia man, or an ordinary factory worker, the Soviet citizen was portrayed as the one warning others on the potential military or ideological aggression. Particularly after the World War II, amidst geopolitical transformations and forced population displacement, the figure of the ‘defender of the state’ obtained the scale of both moral and physical perfection, where a holder of surpassing physical and ideological characteristics, the socialist citizen was a symbol of both physical strength and unquestionable political loyalty. As such, both physical and ‘moral’ perfection, utter devotion to labor and complete ideological obedience to the state were the primary narratives of the socialist political art that created a space of distinct order— “political mythology.” Such process of meaning-making through political posters was an effective mechanism of constructing a discursive framework, where “the personal was virtually degraded to the level of public consumption” (Yurchak 2008: 5). It is beyond the scope of this work to discuss the Soviet people’s reaction to such political propaganda. Whether supporting or rejecting political art of such kind, citizens of the communist space were forced to operate within boundaries of their state, and to construct their lives in accordance with its discursive scope.

The role of political poster within the Soviet or socialist context could be summarized by the following points: ● Throughout the course of the late 19th and the entire 20th century, the poster has been used as a powerful tool for articulation and implementation of the state ideology and vision of the ordinary people’s lives. ● In general terms, political posters have been widely used for visualization or articulation of the utopian ideas of the state. ● One of the general narratives articulated within the political posters was that of consolidation of the state had to occur around the figure of the common enemy, or the ‘other.’ It is the ‘other’ that also justified intrastate violence (such as repressions of the internal ‘enemies of the state’). ● Finally, political poster of the communist times could be seen as an overall iconography of the social changes. Within the visual space of a poster, the ‘personal’ was articulated as to become ‘political,’ where the martyr-like figures such as Pavlik Morozov11 were used to embody devoted communist character.

5.4. Historical context of the ‘great leaders’: the communist cults

Historically, centrality and absolutism have been distinct features of the socio-political and cultural domain of eastern Europe. The personality cult could be seen as emerging from this tradition. Commencing with Lenin and reaching its peak with Stalin, the cult is rooted in tsarist structures that were constructed around hierarchic relations between the elites or the state, and the ordinary public. Particularly after the revolutions that carry a tendency of being grounded in

11 Pavel Morozov (14 November 1918 – 3 September 1932), better known by the diminutive Pavlik, was the leader of the Young Pioneers’ group at his village school and was a fanatical supporter of the Soviet government’s collectivization drive in the countryside. In 1930, at age 12, he gained notoriety for denouncing his father, the head of the local soviet, to the Soviet authorities. Morozov also accused other peasants of hoarding their grain and withholding it from the authorities. As a consequence of his denunciations, Morozov was brutally murdered by several local kulaks. Source: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Pavlik-Morozov. 85 romantic nationalism, the ideology of cultivation of particular leaders comes into practice. In his critical analysis of Eurocentric history, German philosopher Oswald Spengler (1922: 18) defines the worship or cultivation of a specific personality as “a catalyst of national identity.” Stalinists, inspired by pan-Slavist thought, Aulich and Sylvestrova (1999: 86) continue, “shared with the nationalisms of the area the irrationalist myth of spiritual greatness ultimately derived from Herder’s definition of the Volksgeist (folk spirit).” If during the interwar period the cult of militarist heroic leaders was the dominant feature of central and east European state-narrative, the victory of the communist regime over fascism in the Second World War raised Stalin to the top of a personal cult. The figure of a leader as such became an embodiment of the party and the nation—a symbol that served as a discursive cementing between the public and the private— the state and the ordinary citizens. Originally, the bust was the most common form of depiction or public glorification of the leader. Particularly during the years of the Stalinist regime, collective portrayal of the founders of the revolution—Karl Marx, Frederick Engels, and the great founder of the Russian Revolution, Vladimir Lenin, became a popular mechanism, where glorification of Stalin occurred by juxtaposing his figure to the rest. The presentation of the communist figures (primarily those of the past) on a banner, posters, or in the form of a statue, for instance, was a demonstration of the conformity of the regional to the national. Theoretically, “the object and the demiurge of national adulation, the leader of the communist regime was a ‘great architect’ who was an ‘expert’ in everything, [knew] everything, [and ran] everything” (Fejto 1971: 10). The architectural creation of Otakar Švec, Stalin’s Monument (Prague 1959) (Picture 3) is an example of the distinct embodiment of such a practice, where the positioning of the figure of Stalin is affirmative of the ideological narrative of the state. The title of the monument and the creation itself address descriptive discrepancy—though set at the background, the Soviet people are the substantial part of the visual domain of the monument. However, the sculpture as such bears the name of the only figure of the creation—“Stalin.” The public image of the leader is both paternal and appeasing, and holds particular missionary value. The leader of the state, Stalin, imposes meaning on the present, past and the future, and leads the nation toward further ‘victories’ over both the external and internal enemies. For decades, the mentality of the Soviet people was crafted along such a narrative where, though serving as an integral part of the state’s texture, the citizens were composed as an array of names-figures. An ordinary citizen was given

86 professional or ideological categories -- ‘a miner,’ ‘a worker,’ or ‘a collective farmer.’ The nameless, general rank was juxtaposed to the figure of the specific leader—Lenin or Stalin. Such a visual and narrative framework contributed to the formation of what is known as ‘the Soviet mentality’—a particular path of the socio-political thinking where an individual withholds political existence in the absence of a strong, autocratic leader. The personal is being displaced by the collective, where the statues of Stalin or Lenin become the dominant symbol of a particular historical context and serve as an embodiment of specific experiences of the Soviet generation. As being examined in the empirical chapters of this work, despite the official implementation of the decommunization laws of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine, the personality cult is a deeply-rooted cultural phenomenon that is to be distinguished from a purely political or economic domain. Public condemnation of the communist regime through artistic expressions, such as posters, paintings or pieces of critical literature, emerged already during the years of the communist rule. As early as 1982, “NSK in Yugoslavia juxtaposed the heads of Marx, Engels and Lenin with the heads of the victims of communism and a version of Malevich’s black cross on a white ground to speak for the fate of the utopian hopes of the revolution” (Picture 4) (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 92). The 1988 Warsaw Biennale, further on, was one of the first denouncements of the regime outside the Soviet Union. As such, artistic protest established means of articulation of what could not be publicly spoken. The Leninfall12 and other forms of removal of the symbols of communist oppression in Ukraine is but a mirror phenomenon of modern post-Soviet space where the discursive vacuum of silenced socio-political dominance is being filled with the active deposition of the political system and its symbols.

12 Leninfall is the term used to describe the removal of the statues of Vladimir Lenin in modern Ukraine. The process of toppling of the Soviet statues in Ukraine has started mainly in the western regions of the country in the early 1990s. During and after the Euromaidan revolution, the ‘Leninfall’ become a widespread phenomenon and was followed by the official policies of ‘decommunization’ (e.g. 2015 decommunization laws). Source: http://www.memory.gov.ua/news/leninopad-yak-proshchannya-z-radyanskim-minulim. 87

5.5. Roots of the leaders’ cult

Historically, the socio-political realm of the post-Soviet space is marked by numerous rounds of ‘counter-idealization.’ Upon the death of Stalin in 1953, for instance, Khrushchev’s ‘thaw’ transformed memorialization of the past through the cult of mortality into celebration of a new existence. Thousands of busts, monuments or paintings of Stalin were replaced by posters and statues of Lenin who became a counter-repressive symbol of ‘humanization’ of the communist regime. In an attempt to establish a connection between the Marxist-Leninist ideology, the party and the ordinary citizens, memory of Lenin became romanticized by discursive and visual construction of a symbol that was oriented toward the ‘bright,’ serene future. Monumental and cogent, he occupied central squares of all urban centers of the Soviet Union, as well as parks of smaller cities and villages. As a form of virtual denial of the personality cult, Lenin was placed within the daily space of ordinary people. As such, the cult of Lenin is but a mere cult of personality. It is a declaration of the political (party) ideology and the state agenda. Depersonalized in different regions of the state, the figure of Lenin is also typical in its implementation: the locations of Lenin statues reveal traditional methods of ideological indoctrination of the communist regime which occur via control over space and symbols. Dominating the most populated and socially symbolic centers, such as railway stations or front of the governmental buildings, statues of Lenin could be seen as embracing the ideological objectives of the state—the immortality and omnipresence of the communist rule. Grandiose and monumental, the statues of Lenin reached over 100 meters in height, occasionally topping 320 meters tall buildings such as the Palace of the Soviets in Moscow (1934). Both the political posters and statues of the ‘great leader,’ therefore, could be seen as being produced to construct the social reality where, both visually and discursively, the political leaders (or ideologies) become an integral part of the ordinary citizens’ lives. Derived from the gesture of the Statue of Liberty, Michalski argues, the role the statue of Lenin played during the Soviet Union is comparable to the role the Statue of Liberty served in the United States: it “seems to entertain a kind of gestural dialogue—an idea prevalent in political cartoons that show personified countries acting on a small globe” (Michalski 1998: 119). As being observed by the analyst of the political personifications, Marina Warner (1985:

12), “the female form [such as the Statue of Liberty] tends to be perceived as universal, while the male is shown as an individual.” The situation with Lenin, nevertheless, is different. Requiring no further symbolism such as red star or a torch, Michalski (1998: 120) argues further, “his figure in itself serves as a symbol of world-wide luminosity and the relevance of his ideas.” As such, already during an era of the communist rule in eastern and central Europe, the cult of communist figures, and in particular, that of Lenin, has been articulated in multiple forms of the statues or political posters. Whether toppled, displaced or left on the ground, figures of the communist leaders constructed a powerful visual and discursive formation that served as the demarcation between the supporters and the opponents of the communist regime. As will be shown empirically in the following chapters of this research, particularly during times of political transitioning, such as the process of decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, dead symbols of a former political era revive as both objects and tools of administrative and political confrontation. They open the conceptual space for objects, as well as means of further commemoration.

5.6. Historical memory

Memory is an integral act of both ‘collective’ and ‘individual’ meaning-making. In this sense memory can be used by the state to construct specific ideological and socio-political formations. In the following, the role of memory is examined to understand the connection between the Soviet and modern Ukrainian practices of institutionalization of the selected aspects of the state’s history. In his extensive study of Russian-Ukrainian relations in “The Soviet Historical Imagination,” Serhy Yekelchyk (2015: 5) suggests that “nations are always imagined through the concrete social and cultural practices of their given societies.” According to the author, “states and intellectuals do not have a free hand to invent or manipulate national traditions and memories” because [as Arjuna Appadurai noted back in 1981], “history is not a limitless and plastic symbolic resource.” The presence of the glorified Cossack past in the Ukrainian national

89 context is one of the examples of narratives existing within the country’s cultural space. Such narratives are to be ‘mobilized’ during moments of the transitioning such as revolutions or the process of decommunization. In his study of construction of the national identity, Yekelchyk (2015: 15) provides an example of the nineteenth- and twentieth- century intellectuals who had limited cultural space for their social engineering: “they were evoking narratives, objects, and images that were already associated with certain inherited notions and emotions.” Similar patterns of using history within the meaning-making process of modern political transitioning are observed in the post-Soviet space. In order to gain or sustain the support of the electorate, or construct ‘new’ political orders, political elites are using symbols derived from the past. As being addressed further within the empirical chapters of this research, such symbols, however, could be adjusted to retain qualities that resonate with the social demands of the time. Even if granted freedom of implementation of the historical narratives, both the empire- and nation-builders may have difficulty explaining present use of historical symbols outside the country’s public domain. Prasenjit Duara (1996:18) argues that “nationalism is rarely the nationalism of the nation, but rather marks the site where different representations of the nation contest and negotiate with each other.” The Soviet regime has shown its ability to impose ‘uniformity’ on public presentation of the past. The individual interpretations of those presentations, however, were diverse. As such, within the post-Soviet space, memory is equally tangible and hard to schematize. The obsession with interpreting the past is one of the primary characteristics of all nationalisms. It reflects “the nature of modern national identity which relies on the prescription of ‘natural’ continuity among the people’s collective past, present, and future,” Yekelchyk (2015: 8) argues further. Such nationalist fixation is supported by the fact that remembering is also an individual act that, either voluntary or not, exists within the broader framework of the collective memory. The early twentieth-century sociologist, Maurice Halbwachs (1992: 18) suggests that “individuals cannot preserve or invigorate mere personal memories unless they are created in particular social texture (such as family, religion, or nation) and sustained by such groups.” Halbwachs’s accentuation of social contextualization of individual memories is shown to influence prominent scholars working on social memory, such as Yosef Yerushalmi (2001) and Pierre Nora (2004), who assent to Halbwachs’s distinction between the collective memory and history.

According to Halbwachs (1992: 24), “general history starts only when tradition ends and the social memory is fading or breaking up.” Historical memory, therefore, represents a distant past, which no longer exists as a collective memory and with which living contact has been lost. In addition, “collective memory consists of the multiple voices of different groups, whereas historical narrative is unitary” (Yekelchyk 2015: 8). This research aligns with Yekelchyk’s claim. The analysis of the collected data (e.g. the interviews, political posters or demolitical or preservation of the communist symbols) reveals multiplicity of opinions on both the past and the present of the Ukrainian state. The ‘voices’ are articulated within multiple forms of citizens’ interaction with objects of political art, memorials and acts of protests against (or in support) of the state’s decommunization reforms. On a broader, national scale, the historical narrative is unitary in a sense of providing space for ‘vocalization’ of multiple voices, as all the citizens of the state have a point of reference within the historical context of their country. At the same time, as being illustrated by the collected data discussed further in this work, interpretation and presentation of the historical data are rather diverse. It is being articulated and contested within public space which offers room for articulation and construction of diverse hegemonic formations. In his famous Lieux de mémoire series, Nora (2004: 10) examines numerous French monuments, places and images as ‘sites’ of memory, which were once a vivid collective memory but became institutionalized as historical memory. Similarly, Yerushalmi (2001: 3) addresses the loss of living collective memory in the context of modern historical representations (e.g. production of scholarly history or preservationist discourse). In this interpretation, Yekelchyk (2015: 14) argues, “present-day collective memory incorporates both historical memory as our knowledge of the past and social memory of our lived experience, [where] the latter is bound to disappear and be replaced in the next generations by the learned historical memory about our time.” In an attempt to address the recovery of individual agency in the moment that seems to be missing from this scheme—the point of historical memory being internalized by the individual- Amos Funkenstein introduces the term ‘historical consciousness’ to comprise persons’ pursuit to understand their experiences historically. Furthermore, the editor of Museums of Memory and a researcher of historical consciousness, Susan A. Crane (1997: 5) addresses the possibility of individuals “to internalize public historical memory as their

91 collective memory through their lived experiences of learning about the past.” In other words, a person no longer has to ‘witness’ his or her ancestors’ actions. Based on this theory, it is enough to simply read a history book to develop an understanding of a distant past, which does not have to concur with that of the book’s interpretation or that of the majority. A reader can simply advocate devotedly based on his or her background of learning. Such theory is a rather perilous one, since, based on remote secondary sources that could be produced by an individual holding no first-hand experience or knowledge of the event, it can provoke misleading, hazardous action. The communist project of memory is an example of such a deceitful act. It could be seen as detrimental from its mere origins due the state’s inability to control individual interpretations of the historical narratives. Even if individual conscious involvement in the process of remembering or forgetting is one of the base requirements of the formation of a society’s ‘historical consciousness,’ incorporation of both the tsarist and soviet leaders’ mythology into a single narrative of the Soviet state has led to the creation of an ideology that often confused both intellectuals and common people. For instance, when in the 1930s the Stalinist USSR became the self-conscious successor of the Russian Empire, Yekelchyk (2015: 15) argues, “it had to incorporate into its narrative the story of tsarist conquests and territorial acquisitions, but has never quite reconciled it with the previous notion of ‘class history’ or with the separate mythologies of the non-Russian peoples.” In the post-Soviet states like Ukraine, established counter-memories of the pre-Bolshevik nationalist historical narratives, fueled by both the Nazi and Soviet intervention, survived long after the Second World War, which also brought nationalist ethos of Western Ukrainians, for instance, into the Soviet Union and later the independent Ukraine of post-1991. Historically speaking, it could be said that constructing a national narrative on the popular slogan of “friendship of the peoples,” the Kremlin acknowledged the manifold socio-cultural and ethnic composition of the communist empire, and at the same time, sought to prescribe and homogenize social memory. As such, unable to address multiplicity of cultural and ethnic units of the state, the Soviet authorities could not assign collective meaning to the past from which the Soviet peoples supposedly obtained the sense of orientation for their future. In case of the Soviet Union, the communist empire of memory was retained by means of careful filtering of the elements commemoration. Within the socio-political context of post-

Euromaidan Ukraine, the national memory can be described as a living mosaic of regional narratives that, up until the year of the Euromaidan revolution (2013), were kept virtually ‘silent’ under the discursive umbrella of ‘independence’ (“незалежність”). The casualties of the 2014 revolution, as well as the following “hybrid war” in Donbass, unraveled similar scenario where, affected by rapid political developments, citizens of Ukraine became active participants of the colossal national transformations. Nevertheless, even though the eradication of an old regime has cleared discursive and topographic space for the creation of ‘new’ Ukraine, the process of intensive decommunization is showing similar tendencies to those of the Soviet times: when it comes to dealing with the country’s history, the state authorities are struggling with articulation of the national narrative of the country’s past.

5.7. Conclusion: from the Soviet tradition to a modern Ukrainian framework

The official art of the socialist era, and the political posters in particular, are the product of an extensive socio-political and cultural operation where an ideological framework and social values in general were subjected to the power of the state. Within the framework of the socialist regime, the official discourse, as well as the public sphere as a whole, were monopolized by the state. The fall of the socialist system has brought dramatic transformations to the basic structure of society where potential for freedom of expression has opened discursive and physical space for articulation of diversity within the socio-political and cultural domain of the state. As an integral component of the democratic development, the public realm is expanded during revolutionary or transitioning periods. Prototypically, “the public sphere emerges during revolutionary crises as a guarantee of freedom,” Aulich and Sylvestrova (1999: 204) assert. It can be developed through ongoing public discussion of multiple viewpoints, or as a sequel of cautious private reflection. For as long as the intelligentsia remained isolated from the mainstream population, as was virtually happening throughout the course of the Soviet regime, the field of political art was

93 the primary space that aimed at elimination of independent culture or any form of opposing political thought. This chapter addressed the phenomenon of the construction of socio-political and cultural reality with images or multiple objects of art (e.g. political posters or statues) through a decades-long political practice. It showed how the process of political meaning- making may involve elimination of the personal in articulation of the state-imposed image of the public. Within such a process, the personality cult of political leaders, such as Lenin or Stalin, is an element of both regional and national identity-building. By means of erecting monuments of the Soviet leaders, the communist state established the ‘presence’ of Lenin or Stalin in the form of control of the discursive, physical and ideological space of the state. Using political posters of propagandistic, pro-Soviet or anti-Western nature, the state also established particular images of the enemy or the ‘other.’ Within the framework of national identity-making, the narratives of the past or historical memory are essential elements of the meaning-making process. Used by the political elites as means of winning legitimacy, the narratives or particular moments of history are extracted to support (or object) to the socio-political and cultural developments of the present. While also being contested, the past is used for definition or articulation of the evolution of the potential future. The following chapter of this research commences analysis of particular examples of multiple modes of (post)Euromaidan decommunization. Specifically, it looks at what I argue to be the explicit, diverse forms of decommunization as expressed in both the grassroots and state involvement with posters and different forms of political art. Examining images of the popular political art projects of the Euromaidan revolution, as well as the graffiti and interview data collected during fieldwork trips to different regions of Ukraine, the following chapter addresses creation of hegemonic formations at both the grassroots and state level. It analyses discursive and physical modes of articulation of the detachment of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine from its ‘colonial,’ communist past, and draws the analytical parallel between the political art of the communist era and that of the (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. The process of articulation and establishment of what I argue to be the heterogeneous hegemonic formation of the grassroots level and the homogeneous hegemonic formation of the state is the broader analytical objective of the following empirical chapters of this research.

6. Art of the Protest: political posters, graffiti and multiple forms of political art-- from the people to the government

“Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.” -Theodor W. Adorno

6.1. Introduction

In her analysis of the public images and political art in Ukraine, Bazylevych (2010: 12) argues that “the Ukrainian nation-building project emphasizes historical events that are assumed to demonstrate the monstrosity of the Soviet state, and the crucial role of independence and cultural authenticity.” Rubchak (1996: 315) further views Ukraine as a post-colonial society that “strips away layer upon layer of accumulated colonial baggage…striving to reclaim its lost heritage—its cultural, linguistic and spiritual traditions.” By viewing communism as a burden of an authoritarian, colonial past, Ukrainians are not alone in such a stance. In her examination of “hopes and perils of the Euromaidan protests in Ukraine,” Anastasiya Ryabchuk (2014: 128) addresses the pro-EU protests in Bulgaria (2013) as one of the examples where the ruling elites are defined as ‘communists’ by the ordinary public due to the economic profit that the former have gained by “[taking] advantage of the ‘transition’ for their own private [good].” Within the context of the Euromaidan revolution and its socio-political aftermath, the citizens’ views of the state carry characteristics of the following kind: at the beginning, a peaceful protest of the middle class expressing its desire to join Europe, the Euromaidan revolution turned into an autonomous body, a self-organized ‘state within the state’ that rebelled against an oligarchic, dictatorial regime. The process of articulation of the ordinary citizens’ demands took various discursive and physical modes in which the boarder common framework of ‘Europeanization’ of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine became synonymous of ‘decolonization’ or ‘decommunization’ of the state through multiple forms of political art.

This chapter expands on Bakhtin’s (1981: 12) definition of the world as a ‘polyglossic or multivocal’ formation, where the discursive formation is being produced through means of a dialogue (or ‘dialogism’) as to originate social changes. It examines photo, graffiti and interview data that were collected during and after the Euromaidan revolution (2013-2018) and provides the analysis of the primary stage of the all-national (post)2013 decommunization: articulation of diverse socio-political and cultural stands of the ordinary Ukrainians by means of graffiti, political posters and other forms of political art. Such positions vary; they include diverse reasons behind one’s involvement in the Euromaidan revolution, the manifold, at times opposing definitions of the objectives of the protest, as well as multiple forms of eradication of the communist past (e.g. toppling of the Soviet monuments). Using the method of ‘layered textual analysis’ (Covert 2014), I conduct simultaneous examination of the visual and interview data. I analyse the specific socio-political objectives of the protestors of the Euromaidan revolution. I look at what political and cultural messages were articulated during and after the Euromaidan, and examine what modes of demolition of the communist statues existed in the different regions of the country during and after the Euromaidan revolution (2013-2018). The broader objective of such analysis is to examine how images (e.g. citizens-made or government- sponsored posters) or acts of political nature (e.g. toppling or preservation of communist statues) were integral elements of the meaning-making process. The political posters, graffiti or toppling (or preservation) of the communist symbols, I illustrate further, served as discursive and physical space for construction of hegemonic formations, where the mixing of elements of both present and past was an ongoing political phenomenon. Analyzing the articulation of the grassroots political positions, this chapter proceeds with examination of the governmental ‘response’ to the Euromaidan revolution. It analyses the discursive and methodological content of what I argue to be the homogeneous, ‘monologic’ (Bakhtin 1981) hegemonic formation of the state, where romanticization of war in Donbas was made one of the dominant elements of the state-promoted narrative. In particular, this chapter discusses what the modes of construction of the homogeneous (or ‘monological’ (Bakhtin 1981) hegemony of the state are. It examines the process of contestation of the state-promoted meanings by handmade posters and graffiti that emerged as a ‘response’ to artistic and political policies of post-2013 Ukrainian state. The posters or graffiti are explored as ‘narratives’ or means of constructing the discursive formations that articulate decommunization. Finally, this

96 chapter concludes with juxtaposition of the process of the grassroots and state meaning-making to illustrate the emergence of ‘dialogism’ (Bakhtin 1981: 12)-- construction of cultural dialogue between the homogeneous and heterogeneous hegemonic formations. This chapter also examines how “opposition is an integral part of the hegemonic order” (Cox 2019: 366). It illustrates how the socio-political and cultural contradictions generated within the process of meaning-making carry potential of creating new hegemonic formations where political or cultural multivocality is the core of a new hegemonic order.

6.2. The grassroots voices of the Euromaidan revolution: the posters, graffiti and interviews

In June of 2014, the article of Jacek Sacek Saryusz-Wolski was published under the title “Euromaidan: Time to draw conclusions.” In an attempt to access the scale of socio-political and cultural effect that the Euromaidan revolution had on Ukraine, the author argues that it had two major impacts. The first is that, as a movement that emerged to represent citizens of most diverse political, economic or educational backgrounds, the Euromaidan revolution “consolidated the Ukrainian society” (Saryusz-Wolski 2014: 12) by means of articulation of what could be seen as a national objective: an overthrow of an oligarchic system and obtaining the right to live in a democratic state. The former-- an opportunity of living in a just, economically prosperous state, is the demand that has been shared at both ends of the socio- political spectrum of Ukraine, both Western (‘pro-European’) and Eastern (‘pro-Russian’) regions of the country (Krasko 2017: 25). The ‘second’ component of the revolutionary narrative, that of obtaining the democratic state by “allowing Ukrainians to bring about desired political changes in governance, as well as making changes to the political system by bringing back the previous Constitution” (Saryusz-Wolski 2014: 12), could be seen as both the objective and an outcome of the Euromaidan revolution. It was articulated by the protestors and was among the many demands of ‘pro-European’ Ukrainians.

In his analysis of the Euromaidan revolution as “art embedded into protest,” Nazar Kozak (2017: 3) divides multiple forms of artistic work that evolved within the Euromaidan revolution into that being “embedded through two protest modes: nonviolent resistance and the riot.” At its early stage, the Euromaidan revolution came to embrace peaceful articulation of political demands-- the artistic creations such as political posters, symbols (e.g. Christmas tree) or slogans that were similar in their stylistic and visual texture to those of the Orange revolution (2004) (e.g. political posters or songs that aimed at unification of the public around the common goal of democratic transitioning, and as in 2004, the protest against the same political figure-- Viktor Yanukovych). However, as the protesters’ objection to the President Yanukovych’s refusal to sign the Association agreement with the EU has been addressed by violence of the state policy, there occurred fundamental transformation of the protestors identity. In his essay, Kozak (2017: 4) defines such transitioning as the “aesthetic redefinition of the preexisting public space informing the occupation’s identity with the spirit of militancy, [where] eventually, artworks anticipated the tragic outcomes and reflected on the violent events.” This research aligns with the proposed mode of classification of the artistic expressions of Euromaidan into the categories of the ‘nonviolent’ and ‘violent’ resistance. It also suggests to expand the framework of analysis of the artistic creations of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine by examining both ‘how’ and ‘what’ has been articulated via multiple forms of political vocalization. Kozak (2017: 4) argues further that in the Maidan’s riot mode, “the artworks metamorphosed into weapons of those [participating] in battles...and has inspired and protected the protesters.” Reading the posters, graffiti or videos as articulating political narratives, I suggest to examine the collected data as both the discursive and physical space, where fixing of meanings is never fully completed (Cox 2019; Laclau 1985; Thompson 2015). It involves “the discursive competition as an intrinsic element of hegemonic formation” (Cox 2019: 366), where political and cultural diversity of the country’s citizens is both articulated and becomes visible within the process of the discursive struggle. The fact of violence or death, for example, being an indisputably tragic occurrence, I illustrate how the original meaning of objects of ‘violence’ or ‘riot’ such as helmets, shields or bullets were contested and eventually changed through diverse representation of these elements as part of a broader physical and cultural context of the post-revolutionary state. Within such a process, establishment of a hegemonic formation is both

98 a personal and public act that occurs by fusing different elements of history, present and potential future together. The data collected as part of this research-- posters, graffiti and other creative objects of the Euromaidan revolution (handmade dolls that depict former President Yanukovych, or red faceless dolls that symbolize the communist regime, for instance) could be classified into the following dominant themes: 1) the unity of modern (post)Euromaidan Ukraine; 2) the opposition or rejection of the Russian (or former Soviet) presence in Ukraine; 3) the necessity of replacement of the toppled regime (that of the former President Yanukovych or, in broader terms, the Russian/Soviet heritage) with new ideological (and physical) symbols.

Starting from the very first days of the fieldwork and onwards (December 2013-April/ June 2014), diversity was the most vivid characteristic of both the discursive and visual articulation of the protest. I choose to commence the analysis with Picture 5 (Appendix), as this image illustrates what I argue to be the primary ‘puzzle’ of this research: on one hand, the ordinary population that supports ‘pro-European’ choice of (post)2013 Ukraine is recorded to be unified in its desire to detach from geopolitical influence of the Russian Federation, as well as an overall ‘colonial’ framework of the Soviet era. On the other hand, there exists explicit diversity in the discursive and visual modes of articulation of such ‘Europeanization’ or ‘decommunization’ of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. The primary ‘message’ of Picture 5, therefore, is that of the “unified Ukraine.” The slogan (“unified Ukraine”) is written in both Ukrainian and Russian as part of a massive poster that symbolizes Ukrainian flag being stretched across the building of central department store of Kyiv, TSUM. The size and location of the poster-- one of the largest buildings of the central street of the capital, Khreshchatyk, implies both grassroots and governmental support of the slogan. When examined as part of a broader visual narrative of Euromaidan as both physical and discursive space of the meaning-making process, however, the ‘central’ narrative of the “unified Ukraine” is juxtaposed with other slogans and symbols of the distinctively different nature. “Originally painted by the participants of the Euromaidan revolution to represent their regional origins within Ukraine” (Interview: Ivan Demianenko. May 2, 2014, Kyiv. Kutkina),

99 the graffiti “Zaporizhzhya Kyiv” (“Запоріжжя Київ”) (Picture 5) is the visual ‘gate’ to the space of the protest as of May-June of 2014. Discursively, it echoes the poster of “unified Ukraine” by articulating the narrative of unity of eastern Ukraine (e.g. Zaporizhzhya), and the country’s capital. Within the context of occupation of Crimea by the Russian Federation (April 2014) and the beginning of the military conflict in Donbas (eastern Ukraine), the graffiti also symbolizes national unity of Ukrainians (e.g. the eastern regions of the country standing in unison with Kyiv, or the rest of Ukraine). At the same time, as being shown in Picture 5, already during and shortly after the Euromaidan revolution (May 2014), articulation of a ‘common’ pro-European or anti-Russian political course of Ukraine has taken place by means of diverse political language: the flag of the EU is being surrounded by that of Ukraine (on the left) and the official red-and-black emblem of a highly controversial nationalist formation-- the UPA13 (Ukrainian Insurgent Army) (Picture 5). In his work Art and Answerability: Early Philosophical Essays, Mikhail Bakhtin (1990: 12) asserts that “every worldview conditions one another as to turn into production of different, at times opposing meanings.” Picture 5, I argue, could be seen as an example of such stance: the phenomenon of simultaneous presence of different, opposing symbols such as the flag of the EU and that of UPA within a common space of Maidan affects the original meanings of these symbols. Placement of the symbol of both the striving for Ukraine’s independence and that of nationalism, the flag of UPA, next to that of the EU and Ukraine articulates what Patrick Mackie (Documenting Maidan, 2014: 15) argues to be one of the primary effects of the 2013-2014 revolution: “Maidan makes liberalism sound more radical than it deserves, also makes radicalism sound more liberal than it has wanted to claim to be.” When placed within the context of the Euromaidan revolution (or next to that of the EU), the flag of the UPA, or nationalist symbols as such, could be seen as an example of ‘nationalism’ acquiring its new, ‘democratic’ meaning. Within such a process, there occurs a construction of fundamentally different modes of communication and socio-political perception of the citizens by each other. In one respect,

13 The Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) was a Ukrainian nationalist paramilitary and later partisan formation. During World War II, it was engaged in guerrilla warfare against Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, the Polish Underground State and Communist Poland. Its ultimate purpose was an independent and unified Ukrainian state. In 1943, the UPA adopted a policy of massacring and expelling the Polish population. The Ukrainian Insurgent Army was also responsible for massacring the Jewish population of Ukraine. Sources: http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/ display.asp?linkpath=pages%5CU %5CK%5C UkrainianInsurgentArmy. htm. 100 those who support the pro-Russian or anti-European geopolitical, cultural or religious developments find the existence of nationalist symbols such as flags of the UPA “openly threatening” (Interviews. Boris I. May 5, 2014, Kyiv; Ilya Okolnykov. June 1, 2014, Zaporizhzhya; Olesya Krygova. June 18, 2014, Lviv. Kutkina). On the other hand, ignorance of questionable elements such as the nationalist symbols or rhetoric being the attribute of democratic transitioning of the post-communist state is also calling the credibility of democratization into question, both within the Ukrainian and European political space.

6.2.1. Political ‘messages’ of the Euromaidan revolution

In their discussion of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protest in Beijing, Joseph Esherick and Jeffrey Wasserstrom (1990: 836) argue that absence of civil society serves as the foundation for art being “the only possible mode of political expression.” Examining the graffiti of the Egyptian Tahrir revolution (2011), the professor of art history, Elias Chad (2018: 5) defines visual art of such kind as a “playful and self-reflexive set of semiotic strategies [that aim at raising] the consciousness of the society.” The graffiti and posters of Euromaidan are examples of such potent mechanism of socio-political expression taking place via multiple forms of political art. In particular, the posters and graffiti of Maidan constructed a net of multiple meanings that varied from the ordinary citizens’ confession of love towards Ukraine (e.g. Picture 6: “I love Ukraine” (“Я люблю Україну”--a graffiti painted in Ukrainian by one of the protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution) to those of the openly anti-Putin or anti-military statements (Pictures 6 and 10, respectively). According to one of the interviewees, Maxim (Interview. May 3, 2014, Kyiv. Kutkina), “the primary objective of placement of the poster “Love Russians despise Putin” (“Любим русских презираем Путина”) (Picture 14) on the central symbol of the Euromaidan revolution-- the Christmas tree, was to send a broader message to both the Ukrainian and international opponents of the protest.” As Maxim stated further, “the poster [meant] to illustrate the ability of Ukrainians to distinguish politics from the people, and to show that the Euromaidan is a protest against the deadly Russian propaganda machine, not the innocent Russian or Ukrainian people.”

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Further analysis of posters and graffiti of the Euromaidan revolution captures both ‘playfulness’ and ‘consciousness-raising’ as central characteristics of the revolutionary art. By means of political art, however, articulation of similar (at times identical) messages is also shown to be taking place via both ‘aggressive’ and peaceful images. For instance, the graffiti that pictures Putin having a moustache in a shape of a rocket (Picture 10), or a poster of Russian matryoshka doll holding a gun (Picture 9) carry identical messages of stopping the military aggression of the Russian Federation in Ukraine. The poster “No to War!” (“Нет войне!”), is a medium-size ‘note’ which has its message printed as part of the Ukrainian flag, and is placed on a gigantic bowl for making food as to feed anyone who is hungry (Picture 11). The ‘Putin’ graffiti and the ‘matryoshka’ poster, on the other hand, are both ‘playful’ and yet already hostile reflections of the citizens’ socio-political stands. The process of ‘de-Russification,’ therefore, emerges the phenomenon of the early stages of (post)Euromaidan developments, where political posters and graffiti serve as the primary space for articulation of the discursively and stylistically diverse meanings. The political posters and graffiti also offer the point of identification, where contestation is an integral part of the meaning-making process (Laclau 1985; Gills 1994; Kuhn and Weidemann 2010), and takes place through articulation or picturing of the ‘enemy’ or the ‘other.’ For some the ‘other’ is addressed by a simple, general slogan or call such as “no war!”. Within the context of socio-political and cultural plurality of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine, and, in particular, war in Donbass, such a mode of representation of anti-military narrative (Picture 11) could be seen as being directed not only towards the Russian aggressor, but also the Ukrainians themselves (e.g. those who support the ‘pro-Russian’ and ‘pro-European’ stands). The poster “Brother?” (Picture 12), on the contrary, illustrates an instance of cutting one finger and attaching it to another hand as the sixth one. It is a direct accusation of Russia of its political cynicism: while calling Ukraine ‘a younger brother,’ the Russian state ‘cuts off’ and illegally ‘attaches’ Crimea to its territory. At the early stage of the Euromaidan revolution and shortly after its official termination (June of 2014) I witnessed manifold, yet peaceful articulations of the ‘other’ at the grassroots level. Each of the graffiti or posters were used to narrate one or multiple interpretations of the occurring events. Such process of ‘overlapping’ and contestation of different elements of the culture, economy, class or ideology “is inherent in hegemony.” Likewise, posters and graffiti of

102 the Euromaidan revolution represent multiple forms of cultural dialogue where ‘dialogism’ (Bakhtin 1981) is the process that produces discursive and legislative response as to originate social changes. In his examination of the relationship between practice of radical politics and art, Yates McKee (2011: 8) explores the phenomenon of an artist being an “organizer” and the creator of the “movement building practices.” In particular, he focuses on the occurrence of the professional artists’ redirecting their talent “from the expansion of the artworld to the construction of new political imaginary set off against the common enemy” (McKee 2011: 14). Within this process, professional artists themselves become ‘generators’ of nationalist, radicalized social stands. In this research, I intend to illustrate further that even within the framework of the most radical, violent political clashes that involve physical trauma and even death of the participants on both sides of the protest, not only professional artists, but also the ordinary citizens are ‘organizing’ and ‘creating’ the “movement building practices” through art. As within McKee’s study of the Occupy (Strike Art, 2011), the process of articulation of the ongoing struggles around corruption, debt, or broader civic justice is taking place by means of discursive or physical (e.g. graffiti) integration of political discourses within the country’s or city’s landscape. Such a process could be performed by “powerful social actors and groups with relational ties to past and future eras,” (Palonen 2009: 4), as well as politically active citizens of the grassroots level (Fieldwork notes. Chernihiv, Kyiv, Dnipro, Ivanofrankivsk, Kharkiv, Lviv, Odessa, Poltava, Myrhorod, Vinnytsia, Zaporizhzhya. 2014-2018. Kutkina). In case of the Euromaidan revolution, the graffiti painted on the protestors’ shields, helmets, or walls of the buildings are both the organizing and movement-building practices. Pictures 11 and 12 illustrate further heterogeneity of the narratives articulated by the protestors of the Euromaidan revolution. They vary in their objectives and ideological context. Painted on the debris, the graffiti “People think” (Picture 15) and “We need a Ukrainian President” (Picture 16), for instance, form a direct call for political awareness. They target not only the participants of the revolution present on Maidan in Kyiv (2013-2014), but also the entire Ukrainian population. Containing irony as to point at the intensive Russian media-propaganda campaign of 2013-2014 that presented all the participants and the supporters of the Euromaidan revolution as “nationalists” or “Banderavites” (e.g. “The 1st channel,” Russia), the graffiti “We need a Ukrainian President” is ‘signed’ “A Banderovite” (or as being ‘written’ by nationalists). The

103 graffiti (Picture 16) is an example of what I argue to be a broader phenomenon of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine: the process of creative articulation of the ordinary citizens’ socio- political stands becoming the primary component of the meaning-making process (Cox 2019; Laclau 1985; Torfing 1999). Within such a process, the meaning-making involves engagement of multiple voices, positions and socio-political subjects. Further analysis of the collected data - e.g. the maquette of the president Yanukovych made out of the fire extinguisher, glasses and a tie (Picture 17) or a red hanged doll (Picture 18), illustrates clear articulation of the ‘primary’ objective of the Euromaidan revolution-- the socio- political transition of Ukraine from the communist (‘Russian’) past toward the ‘European’ present and future. The elements of articulation of the Ukrainians’ ‘pro-European’ choice within the physical space of Maidan, however, are rather diverse. They vary in both the content and means of their expression. The Picture 17, for instance, captures multiple narratives being articulated within the space of a table, a sticker and objects of daily domain such as a tie, a hat or a fire distinguisher. The message of the blue sticker on the red table presents a specific ‘mode’ of detachment from the ‘pro-Russian’ political course-- “to Europe without Yalynkovych14”. By dressing up a fire distinguisher in a hat, a tie and a pair of glasses, the participants of the Euromaidan revolution use creativity and humor further to articulate their pro-European political stands. The handmade poster at the back of the ‘Yanukovych’ puppet, “First hat of Yanukovych” (“Первая шапка Януковича”) is the statement of the ordinary Ukrainians who make public their awareness of the crimes committed by the President Yanukovych (e.g. prior to his political career, Viktor Yanukovych has served a term in jail for stealing hats). Both the Khreshchatyk street and the Maidan Nezalezhnosti square, therefore, are used by the protesters as a discursive and physical space where the narratives of ‘pro-European’ alternative, the fighting of the corrupt government, or objection to the military conflict in Donbas are intertwined with those of the anti-communist content. Picture 18 illustrates the desire to ‘free’ Ukraine from its communist past being articulated as early as during the first weeks of the Euromaidan revolution, when the central monument of Lenin in Kyiv was toppled by a group of radical activists. At the same time, the phenomenon of massive, national

14 In Picture 17, the last name of the President Yanukovych is changed into ‘Yalynkovych’ as to capture an ironic episode when the supporters of Yanukovych in one of the cities of eastern Ukraine were asked about whom they would vote for in the upcoming Parliamentary elections and could not pronounce the last name Yanukovych correctly (video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gkpJMYzUmg, accessed January 3, 2018) 104 decommunization emerged as one of the many narratives of the Euromaidan revolution. Similar to specific demands of the ordinary Ukrainians, explicit desire of detachment from the communist past was expressed by multiple forms of grassroots political art.

6.3. The “Strike Poster”—“Страйк Плакат”

In the beginning of December 2013, a renowned artist, civic activist and head of the art Banda Agency in Kyiv, Egor Petrov, created an open community project called the “Strike Poster” (“Страйк Плакат”). The project started with Petrov’s idea of “participating in the Euromaidan revolution by doing what [he] was best at-- creating art” (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). Since “it was impossible for [the author] to stay home when people on the streets were protesting, [Petrov] has joined the protest by creating posters that would speak for the people” (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). The idea was to use the discursive and physical space of the poster so that “the poster would both plant the ideas and resonate with the people, as well as trigger thoughts that already existed or that were yet to emerge” (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). Originally, as Petrov stated further in the interview, the “Strike Poster” was to become the “spontaneous voice of the people, which was to be heard not only in Kyiv, but also across all regions of Ukraine”. Posted anonymously on Facebook by Petrov and his artistic team, the posters were free for download. The dominant technique of the “Strike Poster” (or the “Strike”) was to unite the participants of the Euromaidan revolution by providing space for articulation of the socio- political, cultural or economic views with images (or slogans) being written (or printed) in the poster. The creativity, irony and humor became the distinct features of the posters. At first, the online community was supported by several dozens of artists and advertisers; however, within a few weeks, the number of users increased to thousands. Originally, the creators of the “Strike Poster” avoided usage of typical political slogans and symbols. The primary objective of such practice was “to restraint from potential aggravation of the socio-political division of the

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Ukrainian population, [as well as] to bring like-minded Ukrainians together” (Interview. Petrov. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). Particular efficiency of the “Strike Poster” images is that at the time when the majority of the opposition was lacking a clear conceptual image, posters of the “Strike” project served as the discursive and visual space of its own universal language. It carried the ability of reacting to most urgent events of the Euromaidan revolution by being a live project of the ordinary Ukrainians: the “Strike” gave space for both anonymous and identified voices15. During the months of fieldwork, images of the “Strike Poster” were observed at Maidan Nezalezhnosti square in Kyiv, Zaporizhzhya, Vinnytsia, Lviv and other cities of Ukraine. Being the first artistic phenomenon of such public scale, the “Strike Poster” not only provided space for ordinary Ukrainians willing to articulate their socio-political stands. It also served as a bridge between the people and the government: by means of artistic expression, specific claims of the ordinary Ukrainians were made public and later addressed, surpassing direct contact of people and state officials who, both at the time of the revolution and thereafter, were often seen as aloof and hostile. As the regimes fashion their iconographies of power, “old national and state emblems are appropriated or discarded according to their worth within political or revolutionary history” (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 105). The communist regime of the Soviet Union in example of a state where the stylistic components such as the red color, the stars or sickles, for instance, were used for development of the national coat of arms. The protest of the Euromaidan revolution introduced particular figures and emblems that became symbols of ‘stateless,’ wider categories such as ‘democracy,’ ‘freedom,’ ‘liberation’ or ‘peace.’ The following section of this chapter proceeds with analysis of specific images of the “Strike Poster” project as to examine the content and form of articulation of multivocal socio-political stands of the ordinary Ukrainians. The images of the posters that are discussed further were taken as part of the fieldwork trips conducted in Kyiv, Lviv, Vinnytsia, Poltava and Zaporizhzhya in May of 2014 and November of 2015 (Picture 19). The images of the posters that were exhibited internationally (e.g. “I am a drop in the Ocean” poster in Paris, Figure 34) were shared by Egor Petrov as part of the interview that I conducted with him in Kyiv in May of 201616.

15 Egor Petrov, Official website of the Strike Poster project. Accessed February 2015, November 2018. https://www.facebook.com/strikeposter/ 16 The author, Egor Petrov, gave official permission to discuss and publish these images as part of this research. 106

Designed by the ordinary citizens of different regions of Ukraine, the posters of the “Strike Poster” project were shared on the official Facebook page of the project both during and after the Euromaidan revolution. They were then printed by both the Banda Agency of Egor Petrov, as well as on ordinary citizens’ home printers, and placed on the billboards, walls of the buildings, street columns or trees. As was indicated by Petrov (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina), the posters “I am a drop in the Ocean” (“Я крапля в океані”) (Picture 20) and the “Yanukovych nose” (“Ніс Януковича”) (Picture 22) were the first two visuals produced by Petrov and his team of artists. These posters were placed on the billboards of Kyiv as a secret night action in early December of 2013. Both of these images “were very well perceived and immediately picked up by the people” (Interview. Petrov. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). The message of the poster “I am a drop in the Ocean” became a powerful tool for articulation of one of the core transformations that took place during the Euromaidan revolution-- articulation of the concept of unity as the basis of national integrity. The ‘Drop’ came to symbolize the importance of every citizen’s voice that, when unified with that of another Ukrainian, creates an ‘ocean’ of national cohesion. The unity, however, is that of the multivocal rather than homogeneous nature: it consists of diverse political and social demands of ordinary Ukrainians amalgamated by a common desire of the reformation of the state. The “Yanukovych nose” (“Ніс Януковича”) (Picture 22) poster became another distinct tool of vocalization of one’s political stands that was adopted by thousands of Ukrainians across the country. An image of President Viktor Yanukovych portrayed as a clown “emerged as an embodiment of the citizens’ dissatisfaction and explicit frustration about the Yanukovych regime,” Petrov stated (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). By putting the “I am a drop in the Ocean” and the “Yanukovych nose” posters in different cities of Ukraine (Pictures 34, 35 and 36), Ukrainians of western, central, southern, northern and eastern parts of the country created a community of the politically-like-minded citizens: they constructed a powerful hegemonic formation that objected to the criminal government of Yanukovych. At the same time, the posters provided space for articulation of independent voices into a common horizon of ‘new’ national identity-- freedom and diversity of political self-expression. In his analysis of the art of the Euromaidan revolution, Kozak (2017: 12) argues that “taken as a whole, the artistic practices and objects in the first weeks of the Maidan both reflected its dominant nonviolent ethos and established that ethos as dominant.” The ‘author’ of

107 the “Strike Poster” project, Egor Petrov, has also stated that “in general terms, peace and kindness were the primary messages of the “Strike” images and the art of the protest as such” (Interview. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). Both during and after the Euromaidan revolution, the visuals of the “Strike Poster” project were recorded to serve as discursive and physical markers of peace; produced as personal, visual statements of citizens of different regions of the country, they unified the Ukrainian population by offering space for nationally-shared values such as the fight against corruption, the reformation of the judicial system, freedom of speech and improvement of the economic situation within the country. Originating during the Euromaidan revolution, images of the “Strike Poster” project were exhibited in different regions of Ukraine (e.g. Pictures 34 and 35). When placed next to each other, posters of the “Strike Poster” project constructed a collection of manifold narratives that became part of both the physical and discursive domain of the cities. One year after the Euromaidan revolution and onwards, the posters also “continued to serve as living reminders of values and civic stands that hundreds of Ukrainians have sacrificed their lives for in the year of 2013-2014.” (Interview. Petrov. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). As such, over 30 posters were put together into one exhibition by the artists of the Banda Agency. Placed at the central squares of different cities of Ukraine (e.g. Picture 19), political, economic and cultural ‘messages’ of the “Strike Posters” project ‘travel’ across the country, serving as visual reminders of the political and socio-economic goals articulated during the Euromaidan revolution. In broader terms, affirmation of Petrov on the ‘immortality’ and socio-political relevance of the posters found its proof during three years of the data-collection process (2016-2018). Terminated in physical terms (e.g. the tents, shields and other objects of the revolution being removed from the Independence Square in Kyiv in June of 2014), the revolution continued its existence through articulation, representation and contestation of meanings within the physical space of the posters. The posters of the “Strike” project are an example of hegemony never being complete. If during the Euromaidan revolution “Strike” posters were used for articulation of the ordinary citizens’ socio-political stands, within the time-span of over one year and onwards the posters started to serve as both objects of memory of the Euromaidan revolution and ‘pointers’ at existence (or non-existence) of socio-political, economic and cultural transformations within the state.

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The Picture 19 is one of the examples of the “Strike” posters serving as living barometers of the continuation of the Euromaidan revolution: it captures the ordinary citizens (and specifically, the soldiers of war in Donbas) walking next to the posters-- one of the visual and discursive symbols of Maidan. A collection of multi-colored stickers with diverse personal messages, one of the posters of the “Strike Poster” project (Picture 30) is a particular example of personal ‘definitions’ of (post)Euromaidan socio-political transformations. It exposes multivocality of the ordinary citizens political demands and visions on democratic reformation of the state. Juxtaposed to most popular cliché of the Euromaidan revolution-- the choice of Ukraine to join the European Union, multiple meanings of what the Euromaidan revolution and its outcome are about are being articulated: “This is not for Europe, but: for the future of our kids…for roads without pits…This is not for Europe, but for the medicine in the hospitals; this is not for Europe but for courts without bribes; this is not for Europe but against bribes in the kindergartens; this is not for Europe, but for police without bribes; this is not against Russia but against the corrupt state authorities” (The “Strike Poster” poster project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv. November 8, 2015). The grassroots demands for an urgent reformation of the state apparatus are also expressed by means of explicit articulation of public awareness of the state-committed crimes. The visuals and narratives of the pictures 23 and 24, for instance, hold the state responsible for physical violence against the peaceful protestors of 2013: “We are being beaten at our own expense,” “We do not need such hockey,” respectively. The picture 27, “Shame for the entire world,” on the other hand, is the depiction of Lady Justice who carries handcuffs and stick instead of a traditional balance and sword. Further analysis of the images of the ‘Strike Poster’ project exposes what could be defined as a discursive and visual articulation of Russia and the Soviet legacy as an external ‘other.’ Produced within the time-frame of the Euromaidan revolution (December 2013-March 2014), the posters of the “Strike” project are explicit of the Ukrainians’ socio-political stands who view the political course of (post) 2013 Russia as that of an aggressor. The posters “Imagine-- there is no Putin” (Picture 25, self-explanatory), or “The Ukrainian Nightmare” (Picture 29 that depicts Ukraine as a woman crying with blood) narrate the necessity for liberation of Ukraine from the political and cultural patronage of Russia. The Russian aggression is defined by Ukrainians as not only a modern, but also a historic phenomenon. The poster

109 entitled “March 2014” (Picture 32) presents the events of the Euromaidan revolution as the process where both the protestors and the police are being watched, and are potentially overtaken by a monstrous myriapod figure. Emerging from the smoke of the protest, the figure intends to dominate Ukraine and, if being examined in more detail, has a hammer and sickle on its back-- the symbol of the Soviet Union. The “March 2014” poster (Picture 22) is not the only visual of the “Strike” project that illustrates externalization and ‘demonization’ of the Soviet past within the political context of (post)2013 Ukraine. During the “Strike Poster” exhibition in Kyiv (November 5-25, 2015), the poster that presented the process of toppling of the Lenin statues (Picture 33, “The Leninfall” (“Ленінопад”) was placed directly next to the image addressing the Russian (or Soviet) occupation of Ukraine (Picture 32). Linguistically analogous to the ‘rainfall,’ the ‘Leninfall’ poster depicts the statues of Lenin as colorful drops that are falling next to grey communist building-- the symbol of traditional Soviet housing. As being examined further in this research, the process of massive disposition of Lenin statues is the phenomenon that obtained a national scale as a means of fighting Russian aggression. Particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, demolition of the Lenin statues was officially defined as the “Leninfall” (Halushka and Gobert 2017: 21). Commencing already during Maidan (December 2013), the ‘Leninfall’ became an integral element of post-Euromaidan decommunization and evolved into one of the key modes of articulation of detachment of Ukraine from its communist past. By means of spreading the “Strike Poster” images such as “The Leninfall” in different regions of Ukraine, the narrative of decommunization obtained both regional and national scale. It created a sense of a community that is unified under the common goal of democratization ‘as’ decommunization. Further analysis of the “Strike” posters illustrates that “reformation [of] the country” (Picture 31) has been an overall objective of the socio-political transformations articulated by the ordinary citizens of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. In methodological terms, the process of production of the images of the “Strike Poster” exposes construction of the discursive and physical space that encourages personal contribution of Ukrainians to common, peaceful objectives of the revolution-- what Kozak (2017: 12) argues to be “the protest’s ability to embrace everyone.” In practical terms, besides becoming an essential part of the urban space of the Ukrainian cities, the images of the “Strike Poster” were also published online by ordinary citizens. The objective of such online practice was to provide an opportunity of participation in

110 the process of meaning-making for every citizen of Ukraine willing to become both the creator and the presenter of his or her socio-political stands. The act of printing and spreading of images of the “Strike Poster” in different cities of the country constructed a powerful hegemony of unity and yet multivocality of the citizens’ vision of the country’s ‘democratization’: articulated within a common space of political posters, the grassroots stands on means of ‘Europeanization’ of (post) Euromaidan Ukraine are recorded to be versatile (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 27, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. June 4, 2016; Kryvyi Rih. March 2, 2017; Lviv. February 8, 2016; Kyiv. October 15, 2018. Kutkina). Despite the diversity of the grassroots demands, a common message of the necessity of urgent reforms seemed to be both nationally and internationally ‘appealing.’ Acknowledged at both the national and international level as “art making the revolution” (Picture 38: the online article published on the official website of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Ukraine (Interview. Petrov. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina), meanings generated by the “Strike” project ‘left’ the physical boundaries of the poster. The central symbol of the project, the drop of the ocean image, was installed as a computer or phone desktop image in different regions of the country and beyond its geographic borders, and was also reproduced as a cover for mobile phones (Pictures 39 and 40). Both during and after the Euromaidan revolution, the process of uploading, printing, publicizing, or downloading images and slogans of the “Strike Poster” project established a community of promoters of the democratic reformation of Ukraine. Without meeting each other in person (Anderson 1985), thousands of Ukrainians became involved in articulation of their diverse definitions of what the post-2013 Ukraine was to be transformed into: “the country of unity, tolerance, equality or freedom from corruption” (Interview. Petrov. Kyiv. May 27, 2016. Kutkina). Artistic practices such as the political posters of the Euromaidan revolution illustrate an important transitioning that, I argue, is a new phenomenon in the political space of Ukraine. As a successor of socialist legacy of visual political propaganda of the Soviet posters, Ukraine has witnessed a dramatic transformation in the pictorial political representation. It has moved from what this work asserts to be a traditionally ‘public,’ state-imposed imaging to a ‘private,’ ordinary citizens’ articulation of the socio-political space: a large number of posters are both made by the people and are about the people. Fictional, unnatural images of a citizen ‘of’ the Soviet posters are being replaced by the visuals produced by real people who are ready to

111 vocalize their political stands and to reveal both their faces and names. As such, the poster also could be seen as means for reciprocal action: the mechanism of political art that articulates the exchange of values, ideas and socio-political stands between the producer of the artistic object, the ‘object’ and the viewer who, at times, is the same individual-- an ordinary citizen. Reading the posters politically, it could be argued that such transformation is also an indicator of the in-depth changes taking place as a result of both similarities and contradictions exposed within the process of hegemonic articulation (Cox 2019: 368). The act of placing an image or a poster of him or herself (e.g. the protestor, Picture 13, “Human Rights”), or a poster with specific political messages such as those of the “Strike Poster” project in different cities of Ukraine is an example of what I argue to be a heterogeneous hegemonic formation: amalgamated by a common goal of ‘democratization,’ the citizens of Ukraine articulate manifold means of its implementation. As a ‘next’ step for realization of the democratic transition of the post-communist state, I assert further, the grassroots-produced political posters carry potential for engagement of both the ordinary citizens and the government into the process of ‘dialogism’ (Bakhtin 1981)-- peaceful exchange of the citizens-government vision on the potential reforms through political dialogue. Different images of the “Strike Poster” project discussed in this chapter are examples of the feasibility of such a political practice. They articulate multivocality of the grassroots political and social stands, and offer the physical space of the poster as a domain for potential public dialogue. The following section of this chapter focuses on examination of individual posters and different poster-exhibitions that have been set in Kyiv, Vinnytsia, Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, and other cities of Ukraine after the Euromaidan revolution. The primary goal of the first half of this chapter was to examine the articulation of multivocality at the grassroots level being expressed by means of political posters, graffiti or other forms of political art (e.g. political puppets, Picture 18). The following section of this chapter will proceed with analysis of the discursive and physical detachment of Ukraine from its ‘colonial,’ communist past. In particular, it will examine the process of political dialogism of post-Euromaidan Ukraine-- articulation of the grassroots and state-promoted hegemonic formations by means of political art.

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6.4. Posters and the state

The comparative analysis of the data that were collected during and after the revolutionary events of 2013-2014 shows that the process of ‘activation’ of the state in the discursive and physical space of the country took place upon the official termination of the Euromaidan revolution (June 2014). Similar to the modes of grassroots political ‘self- expression’ of Euromaidan (e.g. the political posters), articulation of the ‘post-revolutionary’ meanings by the state occurred as construction of public poster stands, as well as organizing political poster exhibitions. In their analysis of the political course of post-Euromaidan government (2014-2018), scholars working on Ukraine argue that “the process of the government coinciding with popular narratives articulated by the ordinary citizens-- the concepts of ‘freedom,’ ‘independence’ or ‘anti-corruption campaign,’ emerged to please the potential electorate” (Kulyk 2016; Shevel 2016; Soroka 2018). At the governmental level, what started as a potential implementation of the ordinary Ukrainians’ ‘Euromaidan’ demands-- the restoration of the Ukrainian 2004 Constitution, for instance, or decentralization of the state power, turned into institutionalization of the official decommunization process and, I argue, both the discursive and legislative promotion of the war in Donbas. Compared to the visuals of (post)Euromaidan at the grassroots level, the following tendency of the state-level meaning-making was observed: similar to that of the ordinary citizens of (post)2013 Ukraine, the state-sponsored imagery of early (post)Euromaidan Ukraine also restrained from explicit denoting of the ‘other.’ Yet, particularly after the occupation of Crimea by the Russian Federation in April of 2014 and commencement of military activities in Donbas (spring 2014), the Russian Federation or any form of its historical legacy (symbols or figures of the Soviet past) became the primary subject of public, ‘artistic’ condemnation. The new political narrative of post-2013 state became constructed around the idea of national unification of Ukrainians around ideological and physical involvement of the country in the war in Donbas. In her study of the socio-political aftermath of the Euromaidan revolution, Oksana Shevel (2016: 268) argues that “the process of consolidation of the Ukrainian national identity [occurred via] pivoting more decisively away from Russian influence.” Analysis of the data collected as part of this research allows to support such argument by drawing analytical

113 relationship between the images, texts and physical objects. Discussed further in Chapters 7 and 8, the visuals, videos and interviews illustrate the phenomenon of the citizens’ unification (exclusive of Donbas region of Ukraine) around both the discursive and physical figure of the ‘other’-- the Russian Federation and multiple forms of its historical remnants. At the same time, the collected data also show the diversity of the ordinary citizens’ ‘modes’ of conducting the decommunization: they vary from unsanctioned toppling of the communist symbols to creative modes of their preservation, as well as restraint from any form of civic activism as a means of making a political statement (discussed further in Chapter 7). An integral part of the snowballing data-collection process, arrival to the same cities during different periods of the Euromaidan revolution and onwards allowed recording of the substitution of peaceful narratives of the Euromaidan revolution with the military-promoting discourses of the state. For instance, the same poster boards of central streets of Kyiv that were used for articulation of diverse, yet mutually-accepting stands of the participants of the Euromaidan revolution (e.g. “I am a drop in the ocean” or the “Yanukovych nose” posters (Pictures 20 and 22), became the space for disclosure of the state militarization campaign (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. March 2, 2015; Zaporizhzhya. July 10, 2015; Poltava. June 25, 2016; Kharkiv. June 28, 2016; Myrhorod. June 30, 2017; Chernihiv. October 2, 2018; Kyiv. October 8-10. Kutkina). Importantly, the state-promoted recruitment for the Ukrainian army as an act of “protection of the territorial integrity of Ukraine” was articulated around the grassroots narratives of Euromaidan-- ‘unity,’ ‘freedom’ and socio-political and cultural detachment from Russian geopolitical influence. Within such a process, both opposition and dialogue are observed to be the ground elements of the meaning-making political campaign, as well as construction of new hegemonic formations. A political poster of the Khreshchatyk street (Picture 41) is an example of such practice: over one year after the termination of the Euromaidan revolution, in October 2015, the concept of ‘dignity17’ has been virtually substituted by or expanded to that of ‘protection of the state.’ Originally, in the context of the Euromaidan revolution, ‘dignity’ was an example of diverse, what could be seen as ‘personal’ interpretation of democratization of the post-Soviet state; it incorporated multiple meanings that

17 Since the early days of the Euromaidan revolution (2013-2014), the protests of overthrowing of the corrupt government of President Viktor Yanukovych and demonstrating desire of Ukraine to turn its socio-political and cultural course towards Europe were named by ordinary Ukrainians as the “revolution of dignity.” 114 varied from an explicit fight against corruption, or demands of having free and effective medical care system to an open protest against continuation of the alliance with Russia. Upon the official termination of the Euromaidan revolution (June 2014), however, value-‘symbols’ of the Maidan, such as ‘dignity,’ became re-narrated by the state to construct what I argue to be the homogeneous hegemonic formation. Narrated as dedication to “memory of the heroes of the holy hundred” (Picture 41), or the protestors shot during the Euromaidan revolution, the slogan “Obtained dignity-- let us [now] protect the state!” is written in the image of burning barricades of Maidan (Picture 41). The state of post-Euromaidan Ukraine is using the discursive or moral symbols of the revolution (e.g. dignity) to articulate the national call to fight in Donbas. Another popular slogan of the Euromaidan revolution, “Heroes do not die,” obtained particular political resonance after the snipers shooting of over one hundred activists of the Euromaidan revolution in Kyiv (February 19-20, 2014). This slogan was made part of the official state-installed poster campaign (Picture 43). Further tracing of the collected data based on the date of the posters’ installation illustrates the following tendency of the state-level meaning-making ‘campaign’: placed at the stand-boards across the cities of Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, Poltava, and other regions of the country, political posters were used as a primary space for articulation of the military narratives by the state. In particular, the slogans of the state-installed posters indicate continuation of the re-articulation of peaceful slogans of Euromaidan into an explicit call for military action. Already in May of 2014, when war in Donbas started to take its active form, the stand-board posters in Kyiv narrated an open call to join the Ukrainian army: “Friend! Have you signed up for the National Guard of Ukraine?” (Picture 42). Two and a half years later, in February of 2017, posters of a similar content (e.g. Picture 44) were installed on the stand-boards of not only Kyiv, but also Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, Poltava and other cities of Ukraine (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. February 25, 2017; Vinnytsia. February 27, 2017; Kryvyi Rih. March 3, 2017; Zaporizhzhya. March 14, 2017. Kutkina). The poster (Picture 44) that was placed on the stand-boards of the streets, as well as inside of major metro lines of Kyiv, would say: “60 000 of the best patriots have already signed the contract. Become the best!”. Upon the review of such a poster, an ordinary Ukrainian who considers him or herself the ‘best’ (or ‘the patriot’) would join the community of the “best” and become the country’s ‘elite’ by getting involved in the military activities in Donbas. In practical terms, conscription into the Ukrainian army ‘via’ political posters, therefore, could be seen as being grounded on

115 the following three elements: the presentation of the statistical data on the subscription, the definition of soldiers of the Ukrainian army as ‘patriots,’ and the construction of a logical chain of ‘all patriots being the best.’ In April 2017, a major change in the style of state-promoted ‘nationalization’ and ‘militarization’ of post-Euromaidan Ukraine was recorded. The process of attraction of ordinary Ukrainians into the military operation in Donbas became ‘personalized’: the combination of both the slogans and photographs of acting (or former) soldiers of the Ukrianian army emerged as a primary discursive and visual narrative of the state-sponsored political poster campaigns. The photographs of specific soldiers were combined with the slogans that emphasized voluntary nature of military service: “National Guard of Ukraine: The service by the contract and the call of the heart -Serhij Shkabadura, the Printer” (Picture 45). Similar to the traditional Soviet poster, images of post-Euromaidan state-installed poster campaigns also included professional specialization of the soldiers. The Picture 45 is an example of such practice where both the name and professional occupation of the soldier (Serhij Shkabadura, the Printer) are revealed. Potentially, “the process of ‘personalization’ of the poster intended to make joining the army more open and accessible to all Ukrainians,” asserts one of the interviewees, former participant of the Euromaidan revolution, Ivan (Interview. Kyiv. June 28, 2017. Kutkina). It also implicated a provision of narrative and visual means that promoted establishment of the imagined communities: a viewer of the poster, I argue, is given means for establishment of a connection with the soldier whom he or she will never meet personally. A viewer (e.g. an ordinary citizen of Ukraine) may choose between the category of a ‘soldier’ or a ‘printer’ (Picture 45), and, thus, relate to a broader idea of patriots willing to fight for the integrity of their state. In his explanation of reasoning behind the ordinary people’s will to participate in the military activities that can potentially lead to one’s death, Anderson (1983: 7) argues that “imagined as a community, regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in such, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship.” Ultimately, he continues (Anderson 1983: 7), “it is this fraternity that makes it possible, over the past two centuries, for so many millions of people, not so much to kill, as willingly to die for such limited imaginings.” He further asserts that it is the process of presentation of the “shrunken imaginings of recent history” (Anderson 1983: 8) that leads to massive human sacrifices. In other words, emerging from the past, “absurdity of salvation lies in the cultural roots of nationalism”

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(Anderson 1983: 8). Within such a process, fatality is being articulated into continuity of an old tradition, where, according to Anderson, “contingency is then transformed into meaning.” “As we shall see [the author continues], few things are better suited to this end than an idea of nation” (Anderson 1983: 8). While claiming to be ‘new,’ the nations are also always ‘historical”: grounded in the immortal past, they aim at articulating the present as to construct the future. The visuals collected during the fieldwork trip to Kyiv in September of 2018, four years after the Euromaidan revolution, illustrate the accuracy of this particular aspect of Anderson’s analysis. The stand-board poster (Picture 46), for instance, is an image of a soldier who died during one of the military operations in Donbas. The poster presents an image of a soldier and consists of the following message: “Obtained the eternal life in a fight”. With neither the name of a soldier, nor the date of his death being identified, a specific person is virtually made ‘non- personal.’ If being compared to the personalized military posters promoted by the state of post- 2013 Ukraine, discussed previously in this chapter, the posters of 2018 depict what I argue to be an explicit glorification and ‘nationalization’ of death. By means of discursive articulation of the “eternal life [being] obtained in a fight”, the value of human (biological) life is substituted by virtue of “eternal” existence. In other words, not only the fight, but also the “eternity” (or potential death) is being articulated into meaning. Analysis of the visuals collected in Kyiv in September of 2018, such as the poster “Army! Language! Faith! We are walking our own path! We are Ukraine- Petro Poroshenko” (Picture 47), demonstrates the process of blending of different, yet discursively (or ‘ideologically’) homogeneous elements into one visual, as well as ideological formation. Depicted over the background of the official coat of arms of Ukraine-- the golden trident over a blue tint, the concepts of ‘army,’ ‘language’ and ‘faith’ are being articulated into a political manual of a country that follows its own, ‘independent’ path. Presented within both physical and discursive space of the poster of the President Petro Poroshenko’s presidential election campaign, the elements of the ideological agitation (‘army,’ ‘language’ and ‘faith’) are connected into a dominant horizon of social orientation or action. The army, language and faith are made the basis of the Ukrainian national course, which implies preservation, protection and development of these elements as primary means of moving forward or “being” Ukraine. The objective of such national idea is to protect the state against the ‘other’-- the Russian Federation. The following sections of this chapter illustrate that neither the importance, nor the

117 relevance of these state-promoted narratives was questioned by the ordinary citizens of Ukraine. However, comparative analysis of the political posters of the grassroots and state level unravels the process of contestation: the visual and discursive narratives of the grassroots political posters, graffiti or multiple hand-made images compile a powerful counter-hegemonic formation that challenges the state. It articulates the diversity of the political positions of ordinary Ukrainians’ on the subject of language, military activities in Donbas, or decommunization (e.g. the 2015 ‘decommunization laws’), and entails dialogue as explicit means of the state-citizens interaction.

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6.5. Romanticization and realism: the government and ordinary citizens’ stands

The official denouement of the Euromaidan revolution and the consecutive military activities in Donbas led to re-articulation of the political narratives from peaceful to a war- oriented domain (Fieldnotes. Cherkasy, Kyiv, Kharkiv, Kryvyi Rih, Lybny, Lviv, Myrhorod, Odessa, Vinnytsia, Zaporizhzhya. 2014-2018. Kutkina). This phenomenon was particularly apparent in the visuals of the political poster exhibitions. Upon the official termination of the Euromaidan revolution in Kyiv (June 2014), the space of central squares of Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, Poltava, Chernihiv, Lubny and other cities of Ukraine turned into a platform for numerous political poster exhibitions. Considering both military and informational (media) presence of the Russian Federation in Donbas (Malyarenko 2015: 2), the death-toll of Ukrainians sacrificing their lives for the territorial integrity of Ukraine peaked in summer of 2014 (Picture 49). A poster that was placed at the Sofiivska square in Kyiv in May, 2017 (Picture 56) reflects the following statistical data: while in March, April and May of 2014 the Ukrainian side has lost 2, 7 and 69 soldiers, respectively, in June, July and August of the same year the losses of the Ukrainian army were already 137, 320 and 604 soldiers, respectively. In total, as of 2014, the Ukrainian side has lost 1,694 soldiers, while during years of 2015 and 2016 the casualties were 1,071 and 25, respectively. As such, within two calendar years after the Euromaidan revolution, in official terms, 2,790 Ukrainian fighters have been killed in Donbas (Picture 56). The military conflict in Donbas has escalated to a full-scale undeclared war, totaling in over 9,000 casualties on both sides (Cummings-Bruce, 2016). In this context, the articulation of war and its negative socio- economic aftermath as one of the primary subjects of the Ukrainians’ post-Euromaidan daily existence is an innate phenomenon. However, this research recorded explicit divergency in attitudes and overall evaluation (or ‘definition’) of war in Donbas by the government and ordinary citizens (Fieldnotes. 2014-2018. Kutkina). In Kyiv (March and June 2016), as well as in Kharkiv and Vinnytsia (June 2016, February and April 2017), the primary subject of the political poster exhibitions were the military activities in Donbas. The images of the political poster exhibition that was installed in Kyiv in June 2016 (Picture 49) are discussed in detail in this chapter since they summarize what

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I argue to be the dominant element of post-Euromaidan hegemonic formation of the Ukrainian state: both the realistic and highly romanticized articulation of the events, people and objects of war. Diverse in their content in terms of representation of both peaceful (Picture 50 or 51) and violent or active stages of the military activities in Donbas (Picture 53 and 54), all posters of the exhibition are unified by the narrative of the “army saving, protecting, helping [Ukraine].” The war in Donbas is presented by the state-installed political posters as both literal and symbolic act of liberation from the political and cultural influence of Russia and its historical (communist) legacy. To some extent, the process of cultivation of war and the portrayal of soldiers as somewhat ‘joyful’ could be seen as a virtual replica of the Soviet process of hegemonic meaning-making: the state portrays its citizens as ‘happy’ participants of the military activities (e.g. posters of WWII discussed in chapter 5), where protection of the state is the objective of both personal and national level. Pictures 50 and 55 are examples of such visuals where the Ukrainian soldiers in Donbas are smiling, holding a child or playing with a dog on a tank. Similar to the communist posters, the images of children are used by the state to ‘soften’ the military occurrence (e.g. Picture 51: the image of children participating in a voluntary concert in the city of Kramatorsk as to collect funds to support the Ukrainian army, July 27, 2014). The state-supported political posters such as those of June 2016 exhibition in Kyiv also present women as fighters and protectors of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (e.g. Picture 54). In terms of their social objective, these images are similar to the Soviet posters of WWII, where women were portrayed as equally important and powerful participants of the war. The images of victims of the military activities (e.g. Picture 54) are blended with those of real military action (Picture 53), as well as daily routine of the citizens of the potentially pro-Russian positions and the Ukrainian soldiers side by side (Picture 57). Besides the installation of war images in the political poster exhibitions by the Ukrainian state, I also observed romanticization of the Euromaidan revolution and, in particular, war in Donbas by international artists. The photo exhibition of the “Projection” project of Youry Bilak, a French photographer of Ukrainian origin, is an example of such a practice (Galeotti and Bowen 2014; Matsuzato 2017; Mitrokhin 2015). The exhibition was held by Bilak at Boryspil International Airport in Kyiv. Originally, the images of the exhibition were part of the second floor Art Center located at the Administration of the President of Ukraine. According to Bilak, “the photos come to life through images of paintings by great artists-- Leonardo da Vinci,

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Rembrandt van Rijn, and Vincent van Gogh” (Interview. Bilak. Kyiv. March 7, 2017. Kutkina) (e.g. Pictures 58-64). The official description of the project (Picture 58) indicates that the objective of such images is “to create a historical axis with the viewer at its center…[where] the very canvas that artists of different ages try to create [is] time and time again” (Picture 58). Not to deny the possibility of different artists to use images of the revolution or war in creative ways, this research takes a critical stand on the potential political and social effects of the political poster exhibitions such as “Projection.” The place of exposition of the images-- the central airport of the country-- assumes extensive viewing of the photographs by both the Ukrainian and an international audience. For many (if not the majority) of the travelers who witnessed this exhibition, “it was the only point of interaction with war in Donbas” (T.M. Interview. Kyiv. June 2, 2017. Kutkina). What exists as a personal intent of the artist who aims at presenting “modernity [as] being a project of the past in our minds” (Picture 58), the images of the “Projection” exposition, I argue, contribute to a ‘softening’ of the war. In her study of “education and ambivalence in war exhibitions,” Debbie Lisle (2006) asserts that “potentially destabilising encounters with horrific objects (e.g. guns, bombs, shrapnel) are neutralized by celebratory narratives of victory and war as a whole.” She further argues that the “war exhibitions reproduce a politics of consensus by carefully managing the experience of the sublime” (Lisle 2006: 4). The images of the “Projection” exhibition could be seen as both the discursive and physical space that illustrates the process of such ‘management’ of war: real soldiers who are fighting and are potentially sacrificing their lives in Donbas are depicted as ‘classics’ of the world art. Distinct in its mode of artistic presentation, the “Projection” exhibition is one of the visual elements of the homogeneous hegemonic formation of post-2013 Ukrainian state. It continues articulation of the political narrative that “implies loss of cultural hegemony of the communist universe” (Stepanenko and Pylynskyi 2015: 32) and at the same time, falls short in including alternative narratives of the grassroots level.

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6.5.1 The grassroots ‘response’ to the state narratives: birth of dialogism?

In this final section of this chapter, ordinary citizens’ ‘response’ to the state-promoted narratives of the romantic vision of war in Donbas, as well as grassroots ‘evaluation’ of the socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine will be examined. Distinct from the state-presented narratives of positive, patriotic or overtly ‘artistic’ articulation of the military activities in Donbas, the grassroots images and graffiti narrate what could be seen as diverse, more pessimistic (or realistic) view of the aftermath of the Euromaidan revolution. The ordinary citizens of Ukraine are unified with the state in their desire to fight the Russian aggressor, and at the same time, are diverse in their evaluation of the overall objectives and socio-political outcomes of the military activities in Donbass. My fieldwork trips to different regions of Ukraine record the posters and graffiti being used by the ordinary Ukrainians as means of chronology of their personal experiences of war. What could be seen as a similar practice to that of the state-promoted poster exhibitions on war in Donbas, the handmade posters at the grassroots level are also placed at the central squares of different cities of Ukraine (e.g. Picture 65). As a researcher who conducted fieldwork in the same cities during different periods of time (2013-2018), I was able to record both the emergence and development of the ‘dialogical’ political practice of post-Euromaidan Ukraine: by posting photographs and posters of soldiers who died in war in Donbas, friends or family members of perished heroes of Ukraine use posters to conduct political dialogue with the state. The grassroots posters challenge the ‘joyful’ state narrative on war in Donbas, and create space for both memorials and mourning. A vivid example of ‘dialogism’ is Picture 66: juxtaposed to the state-promoted stand-board poster “Father, will you protect?,” a collage of images of specific soldiers who died in Donbas is posted on the column of the Statue of Independence (Maidan Nezalezhnosti square). When compared to war-‘glorifying’ narrative of the state, the posters and images that were recorded in February 2016 in Kyiv (Fieldwork notes) imply no romanticization of human sacrifice in a war. The anonymous graffiti painted directly under the image of the Ukrainian, cossack-looking soldier who died in Donbas grants all-encompassing meaning to death: “For each of us death has a bullet” (Picture 67).

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A broader spectrum of meanings that both the soldiers and the civilians construct in their visual and discursive narrative of war in Donbas is also reflected in other images of the collected data. For instance, the graffiti drawn on one of the columns of the Independence Statue at Maidan Nezalezhnosti square presents the view on the necessity of “ATO18 [beginning] from Verkhovna Rada”-- the ordinary public demands compulsory participation of the state-officials in the military activities in Donbas (Picture 68. Kyiv. February 15, 2017). Another articulation of the socio-political ‘division’ between the ordinary citizens and the state is the graffiti that was painted in different areas of Kyiv and other cities of Ukraine-- “this political power emerged on the blood of the heroes” (Picture 70. Kyiv. October 2, 2017). Painted on the wall of one of the streets next to Lybidska metro station (Picture 70), the graffiti is the reminder of the heroic acts of the protestors of Euromaidan. It is also a moral ‘appeal’ to the President Poroshenko’s government to continue political transformations of ‘de-sovietization’ or ‘decommunization’ of Ukraine in accordance with the demands of the Euromaidan revolution-- fight of corruption, the reformation of the judicial system, implementation of the socio-economic reforms, and further establishment of pro-European political course of Ukraine. The state-promoted narratives that idealize war in Donbas are not the only discursive formations contested by the ordinary Ukrainians. Posted on the columns of Maidan Nezalezhnosti square, fences or walls of the buildings of Kyiv, as well as other cities across Ukraine (discussed further in the following chapters of this work), the hand-made posters and graffiti of the grassroots level are diverse in their critical notions on the state. Three years within the Euromaidan revolution, the ordinary citizens of Ukraine equate poor economic conditions of the country with unwillingness of the Ukrainian government to disrupt ties with the ‘imperial’ Russian (or Soviet) regime. Hand-written with a thick black marker, one of the anonymous posters placed on the wall of a building in Kyiv illustrates the matter: it states that “the shocking socio-economic therapy which [has been] uselessly taking place during 15-20 years is obtaining all signs of the genocide. The secret plan of zionistic-satanistic regime of Poroshenko and Putin becomes obvious” (Picture 69). Another graffiti that was painted next to the portrait of a famous

18 ATO (or Anti-Terrorist Operation) is a term that was introduced by the government of Ukraine to identify Ukrainian military operation on the territory of Donetsk and Luhansk regions that fell under the control of Russian military forces and pro-Russian separatists. Since the year of 2014, the term ‘ATO’ has been used by media, publicity and government of Ukraine as well OSCE and other foreign institutions to refer to the military activities in eastern Ukraine. Source: http://uacrisis.org/66558- joint-forces-operation. 123

Ukrainian actor, Bohdan Stupka (1941-2012), is an explicit articulation of lack of notable changes in the socio-political course of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (Picture 71). The graffiti ‘equalizes’ President Poroshenko with former President of Ukraine, Yanukovych, and President Putin (“Death to Putin! Death to Yanukovych! Death to Poroshenko!” Kyiv. October 5, 2016). The statement of distrust to both the toppled regime of President Yanukovych (2010-2014) and that of post-Euromaidan was also articulated in one of the hand-made posters placed on the column of the Independence Statue at Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. The message of the poster recounted: “The thief has stolen the mace from the thief” (Picture 74), meaning that the corrupt regime of President Yanukovych has been replaced with equally corrupt regime of President Poroshenko. Finally, the process of articulation of the military activities in Donbas at the grassroots level exceeds the romanticized conception of war. Analysis of the collected data shows that the visual and discursive forms of commemoration of the victims of the military activities in Donbas was the primary mode of the grassroots referral to war. The data also contain multiple instances of both regional and national vocalization of the socio-political demands of the ordinary public. The photos and posters with images of the soldiers, political activists, as well as politically active celebrity figures (e.g. Picture 73) were placed in the same physical space of central squares of different cities of Ukraine. Juxtaposed to the state-installed political poster exhibitions, images and graffiti of the grassroots level constructed a net of discursive meanings that imply the necessity of the socio-political dialogue and, at the same time, create visual and ideological space for imagined communities of both the supporters and opponents of war in Donbas. This chapter concludes with examination of a handmade poster exhibition that was installed on the columns of the Statue of Independence in Kyiv, as well as walls of the buildings across Ukraine since February 2015. Diverse in their stylistic presentation (Pictures 72 and 73), the posters contain images and quotes of a leader of a famous Ukrainian rock band Skryabin, Andriy Kuzmenko (publicly known as “Kuzma19”). A popular singer, Kuzmenko died in a car

19 Andriy Kuzmenko (or "Kuzma") (17 August 1968 – 2 February 2015) was a Ukrainian singer, writer, poet, producer and actor. He was best known as the lead singer of the Ukrainian rock band Skryabin, founded in 1989. At the end of January 2014, Kuzmenko recorded a song that was dedicated to the events of Euromaidan revolution where he expressed his support of the people on the Maidan. Since 2014, he has been helping the Ukrainian army in Donbas and was wounded during the Anti-Terrorist Operation (ATO). Shortly before his death, Kuzma expressed explicit criticism of post-Euromaidan government and accused it in corruption. Source: https://www.5.ua/suspilstvo/ zavzhdy-hovoryv-lyshe-pravdu-iaka-b-ne-bula-pamiati-kuzmy-skriabina- 175720.html. 124 accident on February 2, 2015 after making explicit statements and songs that criticized the Ukrainian government’s methods of carrying war in Donbas. Prior to his tragic death, Kuzma had visited war areas of eastern Ukraine, and had participated (and was wounded) in the anti- terrorist operation (ATO) in Donbas. He had spoken to both soldiers and local population of Donbas and conducted numerous press conferences of explicitly critical content on modes and “rationale” of the Ukrainian government’s “war in the east”20. Right after Kuzma’s death, an exhibition of the grassroots posters of the singer was placed on the columns of the Independence Statue in Kyiv (Picture 72). The lyrics of his songs were printed directly on the posters that contained pictures of Kuzma. They included explicit referral to the Ukrainian political elites as those “dumping” their nation (e.g. “we were simply dumped. Like mugs behind the backs, [they] did their things, flushed us,” lyrics of one of Kuzma’s last songs, “Dumped”) (Picture 73. Kyiv. January 11, 2016). Juxtaposed to the state- supported political poster exhibitions on war in Donbas, the exhibitions on the Euromaidan Revolution or post-2015 ‘decommunization’ campaign, images of Kuzma were reposted in different regions of the country (Fieldnotes. Ukraine. 2016-2018. Kutkina). They contributed to the creation of a national narrative of critical evaluation of the military activities in Donbas, where unified under a common objective of a fearless expression of one’s political stands, the citizens of Ukraine engaged in a dialogue with the state.

6.6. Conclusions

This chapter began the analysis of the data that was collected during fieldwork trips to different regions of Ukraine (2013-2018). In particular, it discussed the process of meaning- making of both the grassroots and state level, and focused on examination of the ‘primary’ stage of decommunization of (post)2013 Ukraine-- artistic articulation of multiple modes of ‘democratization’ expressed as part of the Euromaidan revolution and multiple political poster

20Andriy Kuzmenko, Interview, Hromadske TV, Kremenchuk. Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v =26X3BlGgjvk. Accessed February 5, 2015. 125 exhibitions and graffiti on war in Donbas. Providing contextual and visual analysis of both the state- and grassroots ‘installed’ political posters, this chapter proceeded with examination of the meaning-making process as the phenomenon that involves diverse forms of the socio-political and cultural dialogue, as well as carries potential for construction of the imagined communities of both the regional and national scale. Originated as both the discursive and physical attempt to construct ‘new,’ democratic or ‘pro-European’ Ukraine, the space of Maidan Nezalezhnosti square in Kyiv, as well as central squares of cities like Lviv, Poltava, Odessa, Zaporizhzhya or Kryvyi Rih, became the domain for presentation of multivocal, at times contesting meanings. The data addressed in this chapter was collected as part of the ethnographic research conducted during and after the Euromaidan revolution in different regions of the country. They record the evolution of the socio-economic, cultural and political stands of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine from peaceful, creative articulation of highly diverse socio-political narratives from the grassroots level to the homogenous, war- romanticizing meanings of the state-supported political poster exhibitions. Since the early days of the Euromaidan revolution (December of 2013) and years within its aftermath (2014-2018), the political poster was one of the primary modes of articulation of both the grassroots and governmental stands on major political developments within the country. This chapter addressed multiple instances of both the hand-made and professional posters being placed on the columns of central squares, walls of the buildings, or being exhibited as part of official artistic events. As being examined further in this work, similar to that of other states in transition, political art of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine turned into effective mechanism of the meaning-making process. Though it cannot be claimed that posters or graffiti partake of rational discursive thought (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 204), as street graphics they help to constitute discourses of dissidence, opposition or critique, and establish grounds for future democratic transitioning such as decommunization of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. In this chapter, I intended to illustrate the importance of simultaneous analysis of the visual and interview material. I applied the method of layered textual analysis (Covert 2014)-- structural examination of photos, graffiti, and interviews-- to illustrate the extent of diversity of both content and modes of expression of the socio-political stands within a post-revolutionary state.

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Historically speaking, although the ideological and political messages of socialist visuals, such as “everything [being] fulfilled, targets [being] met and exceeded, or people being abidingly happy” (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 205), plausibly faced being contested already during the socialist rule, their public and personal meanings were physically erased with the fall of the socialist regime. Particularly within the context of the Euromaidan revolution, Ukraine witnessed construction and renegotiation of visual spaces where political art such as posters served as a powerful tool of social, ‘class’ communication—direct interaction of the ordinary citizens and the government. As the country entered the phase of physical extermination of peaceful protesters during the Euromaidan revolution, followed by numerous deaths at war in Donbas, Ukrainians became increasingly hostile to any form of Russian or Soviet ‘colonialism,’ past and present. An open, personalized exposure of civic positions through images, criticism and mockery of the political elites (e.g. the “Strike Poster” project), and visibility of multivocality in political posters is the phenomenon that is of both the post-Soviet and international scale. By addressing specific instances of contention of meanings within the discursive and physical space of political posters, this chapter analysed how ordinary citizens and the state operated in newly negotiated social spaces. Drawing from contextual analysis of major visual projects of the Euromaidan revolution (e.g. the “Strike Poster” project, as well as multiple graffiti and objects of the handmade art such as puppets of former president Yanukovych or red hanging dolls representing communism), this chapter addressed multivocality of the grassroots hegemonic formation. Originated within the discursive points of ‘equality,’ ‘diversity’ and ‘freedom’-- ideological cornerstones of the Euromaidan revolution, images of the “Strike Poster” project, graffiti and other forms of both grassroots and state-supported political art discussed in this chapter, I argue, laid the discursive and physical foundation for further, nationwide decommunization. The narratives of de-Russification (at first, an overthrow of President Yanukovych who was the proponent of socio-political and economic union with Russia), and then those of the ‘Leninfall’ or toppling of the Soviet statues have been visually articulated within the space of different political posters. As I illustrate further in this work, they laid a strong political (and cultural) foundation for official decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine.

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In broader terms, therefore, three major discourses could be distinguished as dominating the space of political art of (post)2013 Ukraine and contributing to commencement of the country’s nation-wide ‘de-Sovietization.’ The first two-- criticism of political leaders and romanticization (and grassroots criticism) of war in Donbas, have been discussed in this chapter. The third one-- the ‘presentation of the USSR and the Russian Federation as the oppressive ‘colonial other,’ and massive, legislative decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, will be analysed in the following chapters. Together, I argue, both during and after the Euromaidan revolution, these discourses, articulated by means of political posters and photo exhibitions, structured the social practices of activation of civil society. They also contributed to the promotion of the voluntary involvement in military activities in Eastern Ukraine, as well as implementation of institutional changes such as the 2015 decommunization laws (to be discussed further in chapters 7 and 8). As part of the process of socio-political and cultural transformation of Ukraine, articulation of multiple meanings in political posters of the grassroots and governmental level is the ‘first’ stage of (post)Euromaidan decommunization. The citizens-state ‘dialogism’ could be seen as a fundamental element of the Ukrainian (post)Euromaidan decommunization. The discourses articulated within the space of the posters reached the level of national relevance in that their origins and intrinsic contingency was forgotten; in theoretical terms, such a process is indicative of the political meaning-making that ‘narrates’ discourses successfully becoming hegemonic (Laclau and Mouffe 1985). Yet, the process of hegemonic meaning-making is never complete. The following chapter of this research proceeds with the examination of the ‘infinity’ of articulation of decommunization. It turns to analysis of the ‘Leninfall,’ or massive toppling of the communist statues, as the exposure of socio-political and cultural diversity of the Ukrainians’ stands on the state-implemented policies of decommunization. The process of detachment from the Soviet past, as well as articulation of Russia as the ‘colonial other,’ is analysed further as political negotiation from which both the divergent and unifying identities are being built

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7. The Fall of the Communist Statues: Meanings of Lenin

7.1. Introduction

The toppling of the statue of Vladimir Lenin in Kyiv at the Taras Shevchenko Boulevard on December 8 2013 was one of the culminating moments of the Euromaidan Revolution. It was followed by hundreds of Lenin and other communist monuments being taken down by far- right extremists, politically active minority groups and state-coordinated officials. This potent purge of the communist symbols became known as Leninopad (or the ‘Leninfall’), and was captured by various forms of media, photography and political art. It laid the foundation for an extensive policy of decommunization which seized Ukraine by renaming of thousands of streets, squares or metro stations, and caused the eradication of visual signs of the Soviet heritage (Kutkina 2018: 2). The author of the critical analysis of the 2015 decommunization laws in Ukraine, Oksana Shevel (2015: 3), as well as other academics and politicians working on Ukraine (Chervonenko 2016; Cohen 2015; Gilley 2015; Marples 2006), address the ‘Leninfall’ as a fundamental dilemma articulated around the following problematique: “how to undo the legal, institutional and mnemonic legacy of the Soviet era that mandated and institutionalized one “correct” interpretation of the past without repeating the Soviet approach of mandating one “correct” interpretation and punishing public expressing of dissenting viewpoints” (Shevel 2015: 4). At the policy level, “the questions that arise in the context of urban conservation are much like the wider framework of issues faced by post-Soviet administrations: the selectivity of memory, disconnectedness of the aesthetic level from the political, the absence of competent expert bodies whose decisions are respected by political powers and financially backed, as well as a weak culture of public dialogue,” argues the director of Triptych Global Arts Workshop and research associate of the University of Oxford, Myroslava Hartmond (2016: 8). In a matter of a debate, additional referral is being made to Edmund Griffiths who defines decommunization process in Ukraine as a phenomenon that “tries to recapture the ‘Spirit of ‘91” (Hartmond 2016: 129

15). Comparing to other post-communist states that experienced decommunization during the first months of post-1990s independence, Hartmond proceeds, “are quite misleading.” The process of decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine was not as efficient and ‘European’ as that of the Memento Park in Hungary or Grūtas Park in Lithuania, for instance: performed both as a vandalism and sanctioned practice, the Ukrainian ‘Leninfall’ lacks a solid judicial framework that would provide a practical outline of not only toppling, but also further maintenance of objects of the Soviet heritage (Budryte 2018; Holmes 2004; Koronenko 2019). When it comes to examination of the post-Euromaidan decommunization and evaluation of the ‘Leninfall’ as one of the primary modes of implementation of decommunization laws, this research aligns with existing scholarly arguments on the alarming nature of (post)Euromaidan toppling of Lenin statues being one-sided articulation of ‘one correct’ reading of the past. However, this research suggests to take a different approach to the ‘Leninfall’ and to examine this process as one of the elements of broader, versatile narratives articulated as part of decommunization. In particular, this chapter restrains from approaching removal of the communist statues as “the war on monuments, or the war on communism” (Vakhovska 2014: 12). Originated during the first months of the Euromaidan protests, the toppling of Lenin statues, I argue, emerged in parallel with multiple modes of artistic articulation of ordinary citizens’ political stands (e.g. political posters or graffiti discussed in chapter 6 ). This chapter examines the ‘Leninfall,’ as well as implementation of the official decommunization laws of 2015, as one of many forms of decommunization of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. Rooted within the primarily vandalistic acts of nationalist minority groups, the demolition of the communist statues and, in particular, the official decommunization laws of 2015, continue the articulation of the homogeneous hegemonic formation of the state: the definition of the communist past and its symbols as a potentially “threatening external other” (Viatrovych 2015: 6). At the same time, the grassroots ‘response’ to the state policies of decommunization, I argue, is that of a distinctively multivocal nature. As I examine further in this chapter, it implies both demolition and preservation of the communist symbols, and contests the division of the Ukrainian population into ‘us’ or ‘them’ (the ‘pro-Ukrainian’ or ‘pro- Russian’ population, respectively). The heteroglossia (Bakhtin 1981) or the diversity of the grassroots stands on eradication of the communist heritage in (post)Euromaidan Ukraine is largely gone unnoticed by the previous studies. It is a complex political occurrence and is

130 particularly visible within the process of the ‘Leninfall’ and the implementation of the ‘2015 decommunization laws.’ This chapter provides analysis of specific forms of articulation of the Ukrainians’ stands on ‘how much’ and ‘what’ parts of the communist legacy the citizens wish to be gone (Halushka and Gobert 2017). The broader objective is to examine the formation of the ‘imagined communities’ where Ukrainians are involved in articulation of their ‘pro- European’ or ‘pro-Russian’ (or ‘pro-Soviet’) political stands by toppling (or preservation) of the communist symbols.

7.2. The Leninfall: toppling of the ‘central’ Lenin in Kyiv-- origins of multivocality

The toppling of monuments of Lenin and other symbols of the Soviet era is a notable development of the post-Soviet Ukraine. If being compared to similar processes of the post- communist states such as Hungary or Lithuania, the removal of the communist statues became “the prime visual symbol of the historic change of regimes” (Michalski 1998: 148). Up until 1991, Ukraine has been the country of the highest concentration of communist symbols, with over 5,500 monuments of Lenin looking over hundreds of cities and villages. At the same time, the vast territory of Russia, for instance, was home to just over 7,000 monuments of the Soviet founder. Of all Soviet states, this makes Ukraine the host of the largest number of the ‘great leader.’ Erected in both urban and rural areas, the statues of Lenin and other iconic leaders of the Soviet Union have penetrated both the physical and discursive domain of the country, serving as topographic reminders of the official ideology of the USSR. The multivocal interpretation of the toppling of communist symbols was observed as early as during the ‘first’ overthrow of Lenin in Kyiv on December 8, 2013. The monument of the ‘great leader’ was originally raised at the Taras Shevchenko boulevard in Kyiv. Made of rare red granite, the 3.45 meters statue was erected on top of the 6.8 meters pedestal made of select Karelian quartz, and was officially ‘opened’ on December 5, 1946. The process of inauguration of the monument was led by Nikita Khrushchev, famous Ukrainian writer Pavlo

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Tychyna, and the sculptor himself, Sergei Merkurov. Right before being brought to Kyiv, the statue was one of the few Soviet objects of the World Exhibition in New York (1939), where it was exhibited together with monument of Stalin as part of the Soviet Pavilion. The statue of Lenin in Kyiv was the central sculpture of the ‘leader’ that held historic value and was officially recognized as one of ‘exceptional artistic value.’ It was inscribed into a catalogue of monuments of national value in Ukraine. During the Second World War, there was a gibbet set by the Nazi regime next to the monument of Lenin in Kyiv to conduct public executions of Ukrainians. Particularly for local Kievans residing around the area of the monument, the statue of Lenin held both civic and personal value. It was a composite symbol of grief, struggle, and adversity of both private and national scale (Bikov 2017: 14). According Liubarets (2016: 198), for instance, similar sentiments toward demolition of the statue of Lenin in Kyiv, as well as in other cities and villages of Ukraine, were widely shared by thousands of Ukrainians. On August 3 2009 the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine led by Yulia Tymoshenko excluded the statue of Lenin in Kyiv, as well as other monuments of the communist regime, from the official registry of the country. The statue has lost its status of ‘monument’ and was no longer protected by the state. Already in June 2009, first act of vandalism was registered when the monument was severely damaged by a group of nationalists who smashed the arm and nose of the ‘leader.’ The activists’ justification for the act was that “they followed Presidential decree № 856/2008.” In 2013, the vandals were imprisoned for two years, with both the public and state officials of Ukraine having politically varied stands on the event (Himka 2015: 8). While most of the Kievans condemned the act of vandalism (Lytvin 2015: 42), the great- grandson of the monument’s sculptor, Anton Merkurov, gave extensive feedback on the event. He defined complete demolition of Lenin monument in December 2013 as an act of vandalism and yet, stood against restoration of the statue. “Most certainly, I object acts of vandalism. And I am also against reconstruction of Lenin. The harm is absolutely irretrievable. Now, all this is just part of history’s will. However, may these fragments of the statue serve as a reminder for generations to come of how ruthless, uneducated and violent their ancestors truly were,” Merkurov (2013) noted in his blog “Good-bye Lenin, hello mediocre people!”. After the complete demolition of Lenin, the monument was taken into pieces that were then put up for auction. The price of the communist idol depended on the part and weight of his body. The palm, for example, was worth 1,000 UAH, while the fragment of his hand was priced to 750

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UAH. Separate pieces of feet and torso were sold depending on weight. The head, however, was tagged as “priceless,” and was put up for live auction (Radchenko 2013: 436). The columnist of The New York Times blog, Maria Gessen (2013: 2), described euphoria, anger and sorrow around the statue where “people attacked the monument and started hitting it vigorously with a stone-hammer, passing pieces of the statue to each other.” Open confrontations between the opponents to and the instigators of the dismantling were also recorded by both professional documentalists and ordinary citizens. In February 2014, during an interview conducted with the Estonian documentalist, scholar and political activist, Kristina Norman (Tallinn), I was introduced to a film on the Euromaidan revolution entitled Euromaidan: Rough Cut (Chornovy 2014). The film is a collection of short (10-20 minutes long) documentaries that record different episodes of the Euromaidan revolution, and include a video document on the historic moment of toppling of the Lenin statue in Kyiv. Particularly interesting is the episode called “Lenin’s Teeth.” Besides recording the toppling of the monument, it captures dialogues of the ordinary Ukrainians who both support and object to the statue’s demolition. In the following quotes both participants and observers of Lenin’s overthrow embark into a polemic on the role, value, and meaning of the monument. The film commences with an episode where one of the observers of the event raises the question on ‘what the fault of the monument is?’ The answer that follows from the crowd is that ‘“his fault is in being Lenin.” The dialogue continues further:

Woman (from the crowd) (in Russian): -And what was the Berlin Wall guilty of then? Okay, wait. All right. Guys, wait! Participant 1 (P1): Why should a monument of the murderer of the Ukrainian people stand here? Woman: No, no. Wait! P1: We should have pulled him down in 1991. Woman: No, it’s a symbol! Do you smash your symbols? No, you respect them. And I…You…we can criticize, but not smash them! Understand my position…Wait. My position is the following— I live in this place. I used to walk passed this monument of Lenin on my way to school. It’s sad. Just so sad!’ P1: There should be a monument to victims of genocide.

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Woman: What? Participant 2: There will be some figure on the top (in Ukrainian) Participant 3: Maybe Bandera (in Ukrainian) The crowd continues: -Down with Lenin! Down with Commies! Down with oligarch Commies!

At the first view, this episode of Gornostai’s documentary provides what could be seen as a perfect justification of popular propaganda stands of the Russian media, where a native Kievan woman, a Russian speaker, entreats radically-set nationalists not to vandalize her monument. A clear ‘us versus them’ distinction is established when she asks if “[they would] smash [their] symbols.” Clearly, destruction of Lenin invokes grief that is rooted in a loss of a ‘personal’ symbol—the physical object that was part of the city’s topography, integral element of the woman’s daily routine such as “going to school.” Objection of the statue’s demolition is also grounded on nostalgia and not necessarily the disagreement with political transformations of Euromaidan Ukraine (a popular stand that was broadcasted by the vast majority of Russian media sources during and after the 2013-2014 revolution). Forthcoming discussion of the video on the possibility of replacing Lenin with a statue of victims of genocide or Bandera is also the primary narrative that, as this chapter discusses further, sets the discursive horizon for ardent grassroots debates and controversial state policies of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. Finally, as being articulated by one of the participants of this video, destruction of Lenin monument is a symbolic act of not only toppling of the oppressive communist regime, but also an overthrow of an oligarchic clan that is rooted in the Soviet domain. The equalization of the ‘lithic corps of the monument,’ the ‘commies,’ and the ‘oligarchs’ is done by chanting ‘Down with Lenin! Down with Commies! Down with oligarch Commies!’. As the statue of Lenin is being removed, this episode illustrates ‘de-personification’ of Lenin. Itself the symbol of the revolution and struggle against imperialism, the figure of Lenin ‘articulates’ an empire. As a symbol of the oppressive communist past, however, toppling of Lenin’s monument embraces one of the primary goals of the Euromaidan revolution-- ‘Europeanization’ of the country by means of detachment from cultural and socio-political remnants of the Soviet past. As the camera of Gornostai slides across the crowd, it captures another dialogue that addresses multivocality as the core element of the grassroots meaning-making: the generational

134 divergence of the Ukrainians’ stands toward demolition of the communist symbols. If being compared with the first dialogue of the documentary, arguably, the episode quoted further portrays heterogeneity being rooted in the generational differences of the population: the representatives of the younger generation are shown to be the more tolerant of the socio-political diversity, as well as more open to hearing contrasting opinions of their fellow citizens.

Girl from the crowd: Why are you crying, grandpa? Have you remembered something, or what? Are you cold? (in Ukrainian) Grandpa: No…(in Ukrainian) Girl: Please tell me what happened?...Are you so worried about Lenin, grandpa? Grandpa: ‘This is…this is…This is inhumane. Girl: You mean this event? Grandpa: This is inhumane… Girl: Grandpa, it’s for the best. People want something better. Grandpa: This is inhumane. When my mother… (crying, cannot speak further).

This video records the scale of trauma caused by the toppling of Lenin as one that exceeds physical ability of an elderly man to even talk. A Ukrainian speaker, he defines the process as “inhumane” and, as in the first dialogue, makes personal reference—that of “[his] mother.” Even though no further details on where the dialogue might have gone are captured, there is evidence of the contrasting stereotypes of linguistic preferences of the Ukrainian population being reciprocal to supporting or rejecting the communist past. A Ukrainian- speaking man is clearly expressing approval of preservation of the communist symbol-- the statue of Lenin. At the same time, the episode unravels a clear divergence in interpretation of the toppling of the statue, where the younger generation perceives demolition of statues of Lenin as a transformation “for the best.” Already at this early stage of what became defined as the ‘Leninfall,’ therefore, articulation of the multivocal hegemony of the grassroots level surfaced. The question that persists, however, is on the content of new discursive formations, as well as visual modes of articulation of ‘de-colonial’ or anti-Soviet narratives. When Lenin falls, what does the process of the ‘replacement’ of the communist idol look like?-- in other words, what are the symbols that replace him? Does physical demolition of the objects of the oppressive

135 communist past mean complete eradication of the ‘Soviet’ or the ‘other?’ What is the space where the primary establishment of the hegemonic meanings takes place?— is it a mental space of the country’s citizens or primarily the physical space of the empty plinths? Finally, who is the principal architect of the new symbols that are to fill empty pedestals of the communist regime-- the ordinary citizens or the state? Within the final dialogue of her documentary, Gornostai (2014) turns to people sharing pieces of Lenin and proclaiming that “that’s way too much. [They] do not deserve that much Lenin.” The author captures another conversation which unravels multivocality of the citizens’ stands toward the “central Lenin statue of Ukraine.” The camera captures what could be seen as a traditional ‘Soviet’ form of conducting a ‘dialogue’-- the representatives of what appears to be the political ‘opposition’ (e.g. the proponents of preservation of Lenin statue) are openly discouraged from expressing their political position, and are propelled into both physical and discursive exclusion.

Participant 4 (P4): So, how should we live this life, father? (in Ukrainian) Participant 5 (P5): You should live this life so that you do no harm to people. Right now these people want just one thing, and you are starting to stir up all kinds of different things (in Ukrainian) P4: I am just asking! P5: Don’t ask, just stand and watch. P4: Wait, wait…you are not listening to me at all! Wait! P5: This is it, go away. Goodbye. P4: Listen, I served for the Mediterranean fleet. I am for the Motherland! P5: They did not teach you anything, those two tours of duty. P4: It was in 1982-83. P5: You could have done a hundred tours and you would still be the same. P4: I came here to ask people! P5: What are you interested in? P4: That…I would say I’m interested (says with tears in his eyes)…What did you, or what did we get from this? (self-emphasized, referring to toppling of Lenin statue). P5: Those who wanted something, they got it.

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P4: What? P5: Just go away. (Participant ‘4’ goes away). Participant 6 (P6): Please, hold on strong! (in Ukrainian) P4: Who, me? Oh, I will. They said they were going to beat me up. What for? For truth? P6: They wouldn’t beat you up. P4: And they will not kill me! Or…maybe…Let them kill me! I came out and said who they are! Nobody here told them. So I came out and did! And they tell me that they are going to beat me up? Never! (shows a gun and walks away). I am leaving. Your truth—is just your truth. If you don’t need me—Glory to Ukraine! But free! In Europe! Thank you, my daughter. (walks away) Participant 7 (P7) (random passer-by): Glory to Ukraine!

Upon multiple review of this documentary, complexity of the citizens’ narratives comes as a primary feature of the spoken text: no narrative can be distinguished as the dominant one. Within a distinctive rhetoric of isolation and virtual exclusion from the majority of the crowd toppling the monument of Lenin, Participant 4 is drawing explicit line between himself and the rest of the crowd. The exclamations such as “let them kill me” or “I came out and said who they are!” are indicative of dissociation of him (the minority) from the acting majority. Yet, at the end of the video, the very same citizen (Participant 4) who is clearly standing against demolition of the monument and could be assumed to have minimum common grounds with the nationalist activists, suddenly proclaims “Glory to Ukraine! But free! In Europe!”. Despite such open condemnation of toppling of the Soviet statue, he uses nationalist slogans and shares broader political values of those destroying the monument—‘free’ and ‘pro-European’ path of Ukraine. Expression of certain political, cultural or civic stance that could, at first, be classified as ‘pro- Russian’ (or pro-‘Soviet’) implies neither anti-Ukrainian nor anti-European preferences. This episode is particularly reflective of the socio-political structure of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine, where the political, civic and cultural identities of Ukrainians are highly intertwined, multilayered and consist of elements that no longer follow classical definition of the ‘pro-Russian’ (pro-Soviet) or ‘pro-Ukrainian’. The dialogue is also rather prophetic, as it denotes an account where, if necessary, a neglected activist (Participant 4) is ready to protect himself and his ‘truth’ with a gun. Six months later, in the summer of 2014, the

137 military activities in the eastern region of Ukraine unraveled along the identical socio-political scenario. Some of the local inhabitants of the Donbas region took to arms as to ‘articulate’ their socio-political stands ‘against’ Kyiv, or the ‘pro-European’ Ukrainian government that implied demolition of the country’s Soviet past. At the same time, as was articulated in this video, the same defender of the Soviet statues or symbols is willing to vocalize his pro-Ukrainian stands in the face of the Russian aggression (e.g. “Glory to Ukraine! But free! In Europe!”). The Gornostai’s documentary captures the origins of the highly multivocal articulation and interpretation of decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. As I examine further in this chapter, thousands of Ukrainians have their own opinion on communist symbols, their own experience of the fall, and rather personal justification (or rejection) of decommunization. The process of articulation of multiple ‘meanings’ of decommunization is taking place in ongoing juxtaposition of one element against another (Laclau 1985), as well as exclusion of certain elements in the name of justification of commonly supported political stands (e.g. exclusion or ‘muting’ of stands that advocate preservation of the communist symbols (Participant 4 of Gornostai’s documentary). Importantly, the fundamental split of the socio-political stands of the Ukrainian population is constructed around the past (e.g. communist statues) and not the present of the country (e.g. ‘free’ or ‘European’ course of Ukraine). The toppling of Lenin statues is one of the public mechanisms of unraveling the grassroots political and cultural diversity. Potentially, if being acknowledged at the official, governmental level, institutionalization of multivocality of the citizens’ socio-political stands could serve as a means for ideological bridging: provide the political framework for articulation of both the ‘pro-Soviet’ (or the ‘pro- Russian’) and ‘pro-Ukrainian’ positions. The following section of this chapter addresses particular cases of the toppling of Lenin monuments in different regions of Ukraine. It examines specific methods of articulation of hegemonic formations at both the ordinary citizens’ and state level. Particularly in central and eastern regions of the country, where support for preservation of the symbols is noticeably stronger (Shevel 2015: 8), the citizens engage in creative activities of finding political compromise by artistic interaction with statues of Lenin. This chapter looks at how the communist monuments, as well as empty plinths of the dismantled statues, become canvases for articulation of personal, grassroots messages to the government, fellow citizens, the Russian aggressor and even Lenin ‘himself.’ It examines how the process of meaning-making took place

138 as diverse interpretation of and manifold interaction with the communist symbols. Chaotic, nostalgic, fervent or amicable, the transformation of elements of the urban landscape is a political act. Juxtaposed to the state-implemented hegemony of decommunization as of a narrative of an exclusively anti-Soviet or anti-Russian nature, this chapter analyses the ‘Leninfall’ as a phenomenon that is highly multivocal -- the process that implies construction of the counter-hegemonic formation by artistic articulation of the grassroots political and cultural diversity.

7.3. Regional varieties of the Leninfall

With the exception of the monument of Lenin in Kyiv, which was the first to be toppled as part of the onset of the Euromaidan revolution, the overthrow of the communist statues in cities like Kryvyi Rih, Vinnytsia, Kharkiv or Zaporizhzhya followed its own pattern. The process of massive demolition, dismantling or damage of Lenin monuments took place in western and central regions of Ukraine already during the months of the Euromaidan Revolution (December 2013-February 2014). In the region of central Ukraine, such as the cities of Lybny or Myrhorod, statues of Lenin were also dismantled in early- and mid-2014. Most of the communist monuments in the urban centers of eastern regions, such as Kryvyi Rih or Zaporizhzhya, however, remained untouched until 2015 and spring/summer of 2016 (Motyl 2015: 2). (Fieldnotes. Dnipro. October 12; 2015; Zaporizhzhya. November 3, 2015; Kharkiv. June 27, 2016. Kutkina). Within the timespan of 4.5 years, the demolition of Lenin monuments was as one of the central visual projects of major Ukrainian cities. Methodologically speaking, there was no impediment to observing the removal of communist statues. Since most of the Lenin statues were usually located at the central squares of cities (or villages), their transformation was immediately apparent. Before this chapter proceeds with analysis of what I take as creative, essentially diverse modes of the destruction (and preservation) of the communist symbols, an

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‘outline’ of major stages of demolition of Lenin statues (2014-2018) should be provided. Specifically, I divide the (post)Euromaidan ‘Leninfall’ into the following phases: 1) Either violent or sanctioned toppling of statues of Lenin was followed by application

of political messages via graffiti painted on the plinth; 2) Painting of the Lenin statues into vernacular yellow-blue colors or ‘dressing’ them up in Vyshyvanka (Вишиванка)—embroidered shirt of Ukrainian national costume; 3) After the official implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws, an authorized removal of the communist symbols in all regions of Ukraine. Generally speaking, the ‘Leninfall’ raises questions on mechanisms of articulation and institutionalization of change in states in transition such as post-2013 Ukraine. The events in Ukraine reveal how toppling, preservation or re-location of the communist symbols become methods of political meaning-making that implies physical interaction with objects of the Soviet past as explicit means of articulation of one’s political and cultural stands. The process of decommunization and removal (or preservation) of the Soviet symbols is not only an indicator of ideological or socio-political transformations of the post-revolutionary state. It is also a marker of the formation of a discursive universe or the ‘imagined communities.’ In the following, I will examine specific modes of creative political articulation of such ‘communities’-- those of the supporters and the contestants of the ‘Leninfall.’ The process of artistic preservation of Lenin statues is also analyzed as the means for conducting of a political dialogue between the ordinary citizens and the state. The first image of the space of the toppled Lenin statue in Kyiv, taken as part of this research, is dated April 15 2014. The photo (Picture 77) was taken upon my arrival to Kyiv to interview the participants of the Euromaidan revolution, and to collect visual data on the event. As the data-collection was conducted on a snowballing basis, I arrived to the cities (or villages) following the referral of my interviewees to the most “urgent” locations of the preserved (or toppled) statues of Lenin. After the toppling of the Lenin statue of Kyiv in December 2013 by a group of individuals claiming to be affiliated with the Svoboda Party21, the spectrum of political

21 The All-Ukrainian Union "Svoboda" (translated as “Freedom”) is a Ukrainian nationalist political party that was founded in 1991 as the Social-National Party of Ukraine. It is positioned between the right-wing and the far- right of the political spectrum. It is widely considered a fascist and/or anti-semitic party, as well as simply a radical nationalist party. The party was reformed in 2004 and has been led by Oleh Tyahnybok (elected every two 140 creativity on the Lenin pedestal in Kyiv included replacement of Lenin with extraordinary artistic creations as a means of presentation of diverse socio-political messages. They varied from the grassroots desire to fight corruption (e.g. a golden toilet, an emblem of former President Yanukovych’s corruption was placed directly on the statue’s pedestal) to ‘redirection’ of the country’s political course towards the EU (e.g. the EU and UPA flags placed on the statue’s plinth , or presentation of a wider range of messages such as political and cultural partnership between the states (e.g. a giant blue hand named “Middle way22” installed beside the pedestal, symbolizing “friendship and cooperation”). After the official termination of the Euromaidan revolution in June 2014 and following the removal of the tents, burned tires, wire and other objects of the revolution, examination of the space of the toppled communist symbols became easier. In April 2014, when the ‘protesters’ camp’ was still installed, it was almost impossible to grasp the scale of the toppling of the Lenin statue: from an approximate distance of 10 meters (at that moment, the best possible angle for taking pictures of an empty pedestal of Lenin), the pedestal was still covered with soot. Darkened by ash of the revolutionary fire, the pedestal of Lenin in Kyiv has lost centrality of location. No longer holding the statue of the ‘great leader,’ the pedestal of central Bessarabska Lenin in Kiyv has turned into a new symbol or a “sign of change” (Bikov 2017: 38). Still rooted deeply in the Ukrainian soil through its pedestal, communism in Ukraine, therefore, was ‘beheaded.’ The toppling of the central Lenin of Ukraine commenced both a physical and discursive pursuit of meanings-- the process of creative replacement of the Soviet cult with diverse, personal, oftentimes artistic political narratives. Symbolically, as one of the activists who was taking the statue down in December shared: “[toppling of Lenin figure] was the day the revolution started. Because Lenin on Bessarabska Square wasn’t just a symbol of the past; it was also a symbol of everything that

years) since then. In the 2012 Ukrainian parliamentary elections, Svoboda won its first seats in the Ukrainian Parliament. It garnered 10.44% of the popular vote and the 4th most seats among national political parties. From 27 February 2014 till 12 November 2014 three members of the party held positions in Ukraine's government. The party won 6 seats in the late October 2014 Ukrainian parliamentary election. Source: https://svoboda.org.ua/. 22 Named “Middle Way,” the giant blue hand was installed next to the pedestal of the toppled Lenin statue in Kyiv by the Romanian artist Bogdan Rață, best known for his distorted sculptures of the human body (2017- 2018). The blue hand stood at Taras Shevchenko Boulevard. Brought to the city by the Romanian Embassy and the Nasui Collection & Gallery as part of Kiev’s “Moving Monuments” programme, the sculpture divided locals, many of whom were celebrating that the installation was merely temporary. Source: https://www.calvertjournal.com/articles /show/10684/kiev-has-replaced-the-citys-lenin-statue-with-a-giant-blue- hand. 141 was going wrong in Ukraine…The whole of Maidan was so enthusiastic. This was the central act of the revolution, when people freed themselves from the past” (Halushka and Gobert 2017: 14). Factually, “when it came to making a decision of whether to take the statue of Lenin down or not, the answer would traditionally be “yes,” one of the interviewees confirmed (Interview. Evgen. Kryvyi Rih. March 2, 2017. Kutkina). What comes as an important point of the toppling process is that the statue of Lenin became a point of expression of the primarily anti-communist or ‘anti-colonial’ positions. The ‘torturer’ or ‘colonizer’ (“Kat”) (Picture 83) was observed as the primary graffiti message articulated on the pedestals of the Lenin statues across Ukraine (Fieldnotes. Lybny. June 5, 10, 2016; Kharkiv. July 15, 2016; Kyiv. May 20, 2014/October 5, 2014/February 17, 2015/May 8, 2017; Lviv. February 12, 2017; Vinnytsia. February 15, 2017; Zaporizhzhya. March 21, 2017; Kyiv. October 3, 2018. Kutkina). The interviews confirm that toppling of the communist statues was one of the multiple forms of articulation of decommunization. The complete demolition of all remnants of the communist past became officially institutionalized by the state after termination of the Euromaidan revolution by means of passing of the official 2015 ‘decommunization laws’ (discussed further in chapter 8). This government-implemented legislative procedure implied (and installed) complete eradication of Lenin statues. It became a powerful legislative mechanism for articulation of what I argue to be the homogeneous hegemonic formation of the state-- a complete demolition of the Soviet statues from the physical space of Ukraine. The collected data, however, show divergency in the ordinary citizens stands towards the toppling of the communist symbols (Fieldnotes. Ukraine. 2014-2018. Kutkina). Although the plinths that were left standing became canvases of predominantly anti-Soviet narratives, many pro-Lenin stands were also observed (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. June 4, 2014/October 28, 2015/ November 14, 2015/ February 2, 2016/ April 5, 2017/October 15, 2018; Zaporizhzhya. June 3, 2017; Lybny. June 5, 2016; Poltava. June 16, 2016; Tishky. August 18, 2017; Kharkiv. October 19, 2017; Lviv. February 5, 2017; Ivano Frankivsk March 1, 2017. Kutkina). This finding is in accord with the study of the photographer and journalist, Ackermann and Gobert (respectively), Looking for Lenin (2017), as well as the work of the political artists Yevgenia Belorusets or Alevtina Kakhidze, who also acknowledge multiplicity of socio-political positions of the Ukrainian population regarding decommunization. However, apart from revealing their views expressed during interviews, the people who objected to decommunization or were taking rather

142 neutral stands on the process were not recorded to make their views broadly known. Simply put, if one conducted analysis of the images of ‘decommunization’ in post-2013 Ukraine, such as photographs or debris of the toppled statues of Lenin or their plinths, both topographic and narrative findings would be representative of what I argue to be a rather one-sided, anti- communist position. The heterogeneous hegemonic formation, that has been constructed at the grassroots, ordinary citizens’ level since the Euromaidan revolution, remains silent or visually undetectable. Had these views been made public or vocalized, the multivocal narratives of the ordinary Ukrainians would have carried potential for refinement of the ‘black-and-white’ picture of Ukraine being ‘unified’ by adversities of its communist past—the hegemonic formation supported and implemented by the Ukrainian state. Overall, it could be argued that after termination of the Euromaidan revolution, its ‘winner’-- an ordinary Ukrainian, attained a right to demolish the figure of the oppressor, as well as to ‘place’ him or herself at the wheel of the state-- atop the pedestals of the toppled communist statues. Massive public flashmobs of Ukrainians standing on the plinths became a national phenomenon (Picture 83). Such events were recorded in Kyiv, Kharkiv, Poltava and other cities and villages of Ukraine where people had access to pedestals of the demolished statues (Fieldnotes. June 2014-September 2018. Kutkina). The narratives vocalized within this process, however, were ambiguous. The interviewee from Kharkiv, Olexander Osintsev, for instance, expresses the complexity of his civic convictions while sharing an image of himself standing on Lenin’s plinth:

“It was the moment of absolute triumph. It was both national and personal victory. My people have won the revolution! That was it! Lenin was gone and now, finally, an ordinary Ukrainian could take the dictator’s place both politically and physically! Can you imagine?! It was almost symbolic—you, being so tiny— forgotten citizen of your state, standing on top of Lenin’s giant shoes! What a euphoria! It was the moment of massive revenge as well. And the only thing that made me sad was watching older people standing aside and almost crying. One of those minutes when you understand that, as in any revolution, there will always be winners and losers” (Interview. Osintsev. Kharkiv. June 12, 2016. Kutkina).

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When asked about his opinion on the statue’s demolition and his image and attitude toward the event a year later, Olexander Osintsev expressed indifference, disappointment, and was rather critical of post-Euromaidan decommunization as a whole.

“Yes, all major media channels recorded the Leninfall in Ukraine. So what? It is way too easy to overthrow the stone. What about traditions, all the corruption, theft, all the crime that our country accumulated during decades of communism? Us, them…we come and destroy the signs. Same thing is happening to the streets. We rename them, but all the buildings, trees, houses— they are all static! You know what I mean? I do support popular graffiti—the communist regime was torturous! Of course! The question is—how do we get rid of its roots? Its culture? How do we record real changes? That is a rather good, very good question” (Interview. Osintsev. Kyiv. July 17, 2017. Kutkina).

As the physical demolition of the communist past from the city landscape, the Leninfall involved articulation of contradictory political meanings that contributed towards a heterogeneous hegemonic formation at the grassroots level-- that of support and objection to decommunization. The means of articulation of such hegemonic formation – modes of interaction with symbols of the colonial past – are diverse. Witnessing non-physical or ideological ‘decommunization’ during the fieldwork revealed the necessity of broadening of the analytical objective of this research. In particular, as pictures of both the toppled and preserved monuments of Lenin were taken, and after interviews that unraveled diverse, at times the opposing views on the necessity, objectives and timeliness of decommunization were conducted, there evolved a quest on how to measure a process as being ‘complete’. In other words, a question of whether it could it be argued that decommunization has ended with the fall of the last Lenin statue has emerged. As one of my interviewees, Oles, has pointed, “there [existed] the danger of ‘overthrowing the stone’ and having the remnants of the regime being left in multiple forms such as corruption or crime” (Interview. Zaporizhzhya. July 25, 2017. Kutkina). To expand on existing elements or ‘meanings’ of decommunization, I present the following quote of the award-winning journalist and correspondent for Radio France Internationale, Le Monde Diplomatique and La Tribune de Genève, Sebastien Gobert. In his analysis of the ‘Leninfall’ in Ukraine, he defines the ‘Leninopad’ (or ‘Leninfall’) as “a chaotic

144 effort to break with the past and, accordingly, with Russia” (Gobert 2017: 4). He and his colleague, the photographer of the project Looking for Lenin23, Niels Ackermann, further point to ideological and institutional justification of de-Sovietization: “official decommunization laws tried to provide a framework for the democratic movement” (Halushka and Gobert 2017: 22). However, “rather than offering answers, it raised only questions,” the authors affirm further. The euphoria of the demolition of the statues was alternated with apathy and feelings of meaninglessness of decommunization as a mechanism of socio-political change. Particularly after 2016, when hundreds of Lenin statues have been taken down in major cities and villages, the questions of ‘effectiveness’ and ‘modes of decommunization’ emerged as the primary areas of the ordinary citizens’ concerns (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 19, 2015/June 3, 2016/October 4, 2017; October 2, 2018/ Boryspil. March 22, 2015; Pyriatyn. February 17, 2017; Odessa. May 3, 2017; Dnipro. February 29, 2017; Lviv. February 10, 2017. Kutkina). Interestingly, the scepticism towards the state decommunization policies was expressed by the representatives of diverse social and cultural strata of the Ukrainian population (Fieldnotes. 2015-2018. Kutkina). In his interview with Ackermann and Gobert, the deputy mayor of Chernihiv, Oleksandr Lomako, addresses the absence of real changes brought by the ‘Leninfall.’ “You are looking for Lenin? Good for you. I’ll help you but let’s move fast: I have a lot of work to do. I don’t really care about decommunization. Neither do the city residents. In Chernihiv, there are few economic opportunities, we don’t have many jobs to offer. Our city is neglected. We need to develop businesses and attract investments and provide future for our kids—that’s our priority. They took Lenin away. Good. But this didn’t change anything in our lives” (Halushka and Gobert, 2017: 94). A farmer from Ivano-Frankivsk, Galyna Prokopenko, whose husband was an active participant of the Euromaidan revolution, expresses ongoing concern of decommunization being nothing but a destructive manoeuvre of the state: “I used to be a simple, non-politicized person until the day my husband went on Maidan. What a time that was—so much faith, passion, so much hope for a better future! Three years

23 Looking for Lenin (2017) is the artistic project of the journalist Sebastien Gobert and the photographer Niels Ackermann. Originated as a quest to answer the question on ‘where the toppled Lenin statue in Kyiv go?’, authors of this project have hunted down and photographed the fallen statues of Lenin across Ukraine (2013- 2016), revealing the monuments’ inglorious fate. The statues were found in the most unexpected place such as scrap yards, store rooms, or bathrooms of ordinary Ukrainian who were trying to ‘save’ Lenin monuments from complete destruction. Source: http://fuel-design.com/publishing/looking-lenin/. 145 later…what do we have? Members of the parliament living their luxurious lives while ordinary people like us are forced to work like slaves to make our ends meet. And Lenin? He has always been a dead figure for us. Both during communist times and after the fall of the Soviet Union. This current government knows this…and is just trying to mask its crimes with those of Lenin. Nothing…nothing is changing. They should start punishing living criminals rather than the dead ones…” (Interview. Prokopenko. Lviv. February 11, 2017. Kutkina). The process of de-Sovietization developed into a vicious cycle where dissatisfaction, yearning for change and even anger are motivators that triggered the toppling of communist symbols and, at the same time, presented the terminal point of the Leninfall. Ultimately, Gobert (2017: 32) claims, “the process becomes illegible.” Traditional stereotypes such as the ‘Ukrainian-speaking intelligentsia from Lviv being devoted supporter of decommunization,’ or, on the contrary, ‘a Russian-speaking factory workers from Eastern Ukraine objecting the Leninfall,’ I argue, dissolve. The socio-economic condition of the Ukrainian citizens, fight against corruption, and regional improvement of the state apparatus by extensive national reforms evolve into dominant narratives that ‘accompany’ the Leninfall (Interviews. Kyiv, Zaporizhzhya, Odessa, 2015-2017. Kutkina). The focal point of the Euromaidan revolution— subversion of criminal, ‘post-Soviet’ elites and institutionalized demolition of corruption that, potentially, would lead to improvement of living-standards of average Ukrainians is identified by the interviewees as a sequel of decommunization. Examination of the collected data by means of drawing analytical relationships between narratives, images and physical objects, such as the toppled statues of Lenin, revealed the figure of Lenin to be a nodal point of multiple forms of meaning-making. As a symbol of the contested past, it is ‘composed’ of diverse ‘personal’ meanings and is an ample emblem of change. It is both an object and method of exemption from the communist past. Additionally, as being examined in the following section of this chapter, the post-2013 decommunization is also a peculiar form of prolongation of the Euromaidan revolution: the removal (or preservation) of communist symbols by the ordinary public serves as a tool for articulation of specific political and cultural stands of the country’s citizens.

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7.4. The ‘Lenin camouflage’ or regional alternatives for demolition of Lenin statues

The curator of the project the Soviet Mosaics in Ukraine, Yevhenia Moliar (2016: 4), discusses three levels of ‘decommunization’: ‘ideological decommunization,’ where the officials inform of their ability to conduct reforms by using destruction of communist statues as a populist demeanor, ‘gentle popular decommunization,’ where local citizens take the initiative and adjust communist symbols via numerous artistic stands, and ‘communist decommunization,’ ‘where the urban space undergoes alteration by private figures who view the remnants of the monuments as lithic ruins.’ Although the ‘gentle popular decommunization,’ or what could be called ‘artistic decommunization,’ is mentioned in the literature on decommunization of post-Maidan Ukraine (Chervonenko 2016; Gilley 2016; Moliar 2016; Shevel 2015), as a key element of de- Sovietization, the ‘Leninfall’ in cities like Zaporizhzhya, Dnipro or Kryvyi Rih indicates peculiar tendencies of the preservation rather than demolition of the communist symbols. This could be seen as pursuing two primary objectives: use of humor and irony to illustrate ideological and practical flaws of decommunization, and preservation of the Soviet monuments by means of political art. In 2015, for instance, Ukrainian artist, Oleksandr Milov, transformed a rusting statue of Lenin in Odessa into a monument of Star Wars villain Darth Vader, where he covered old body of the ‘leader’ with stout material and added a helmet (Picture 74). In his interview to BBC Culture, Milov calls himself “a child of a country that does not exist anymore” and explains his creation as the “desire to save the monuments of history” (interviewed by Fiona McDonald, 23 October, 2015). He further defines his art as a metaphorical attempt “to clean up the operating system and to keep it on the hard drive of memory” (Milov 2015). Without physical eradication of the communist symbol—the body of Lenin, the signifier of the Soviet oppression, or the statue of Lenin, therefore, is ‘re-defined.’ It escapes complete demolition with the help of an artistic collision of multiple meanings or socio- political narratives within the original space of the statue. Complex and simple in its ideological essence, the statue of Milov addresses further generic questions on (im)possibility of immediate transformation of the state. Also, it presents important dilemma of “who represents the Dark Side better—Lenin or Darth Vader?’—the

147 communist system or the ruling elites of post-2013 Ukraine. “Such poignant subversion fits well with the technology-savvy, progressive image the port city [of Odessa] strives to present to the world,” argues Gobert (2017: 13). Similar to other examples of communist monuments that were ‘reused’ as Cossacks, military commanders or superheroes (Pictures 78 and 79), the statue of Darth Vader is one of the many instances where national reforms of ‘decommunization’ were carried out by private agents. Artistic ideas of the ordinary citizens are made public and political through creative imposition of communist symbols. And vice versa: political symbols of the communist regime are transformed into subjects of personal, closed domain where, painted or changed, they are ‘reduced’ to objects of home décor (Picture 81). The process of both public and private preservation of the communist statues by means of political art illustrates what I argue to be construction of parallel ‘imagined communities.’ In classical terms of Benedict Anderson (1983: 6), just as the members of any political community “will never know most of their fellow-members,” the participants of the decommunization of post-2013 Ukraine are left virtually ‘invisible’ to each other (with the exception of famous artists or journalists and researchers working on the matter: e.g. Milov or Gobert). At the same time, the ordinary citizens who are either toppling or preserving Lenin statues are unified into broader ideological (or cultural) formations that promote both demolition and preservation of the communist past. The process of such multivocal decommunization that has been taking place in Ukraine since the early days of the Euromaidan revolution became a national phenomenon and, I argue, is an example of heterogeneous hegemonic formation of the grassroots level. Within this context, political reading of the following pictures of the collected data illustrates further ‘re-narration’ and ‘re-construction’ of history that takes place so as to fit the political and cultural demands of the present. The figure of Lenin loses its original meaning and is turned into that of a Cossack (Picture 79) or even the object of personal interior (Lenin as a glass-holder, Picture 81). The narratives unraveled ‘through’ the Leninfall are exceptionally diverse. As new meanings are articulated by multiple forms of creative interaction with the statues of Lenin, the symbol of the political epoch is deconstructed to present multivocal ‘readings’ of the communist past, as well as the country’s ‘democratic’ present: the ‘loyalty’ to the Soviet past, the democratic protest such as the Euromaidan revolution, or an overall, new creative approach of turning the statues into objects of art. Such a process of diverse interaction with symbols of the communist past epitomizes construction of what is a powerful hegemonic

148 formation. It implies the process of meaning-making that challenges the simplicity of physical destruction of Lenin statues as the primary and only possible means of obliteration of the communist past. It also raises further questions on the possibility of individual ownership of the space and its political, historical objects, as well as the efficiency of political art as a means of articulation and implementation of dialogical interaction. In many places the preservation of Lenin statues has also assumed a form of ‘Ukrainization.’ In both the capital city of Kyiv and major industrial centers of the country (e.g. Zaporizhzhya and Kryvyi Rih) statues of Lenin were displayed in the traditionally Ukrainian attributes—painted in yellow and blue colors of the Ukrainian flag or ‘dressed’ in Ukrainian embroidery shirt, Vyshyvanka (Pictures 80 and 82). This visual ‘nationalization’ of communist monuments of Ukraine is an outcome of two conflicting views. In case of painting of Lenin statues (Picture 80), the act was performed by nationalist groups who used colors of the Ukrainian flag (yellow and blue) as a means of censorship of the communist past. In Zaporizhzhya, on the other hand, visual transformation of a vyshyvanka-dressed Lenin occurred upon the official approval of local administration that took an initiative to provide an “appeasing solution” to potentially conflicting groups (such instance, however, was an exception and did not reflect the general tendency of the state in dealing with communist symbols). Admired by older generations, the symbol of ‘prosperous communist past’ was left intact and, at the same time, was dressed in the cogent emblem of ‘Ukrainianess’—Vyshyvanka. “If it was not for official decommunization laws, we would have kept our Lenin like that. It was such a great symbol of Zaporizhzhya—the city that remembers and honors its past, but yet is open to solely Ukrainian future, most certainly,” states one of the citizens of Zaporizhzhya (Interview. Volodymyr Kravchenko. Zaporizhzhya. June 19, 2017. Kutkina). The interviews that were conducted with members of NGOs, journalists, and ordinary citizens of the city record the widespread support for preservation of the communist statues in Zaporizhzhya and other regions of eastern and southern Ukraine (e.g. Kryviy Rih, Kharkiv, or Odessa) (Interviews: Olena Lekha. May 15, 2017, Zaporizhzhya; Andrij Zadorniy. June 2, 2017, Kryviy Rih; Dimitriy Levko. July 24, 2017, Odessa. Kutkina). In broader terms, these instances of artistic preservation, or transformation of statues of Lenin reflect the socio-political and cultural change of the country’s civic domain, where particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, traditional juxtaposition between ‘east’ and ‘west’

149 has disappeared. Either physical or ideological, the ‘exterior’ of an interviewee is illusive: 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 the independence of Ukraine. And vice versa. Importantly, when it comes to interaction with the Soviet past, Ukrainian symbols became indicative of a diverse set of actions—both guarding and disruptive ones. At the grassroots level, the new hegemony of multivocality materialized through memorials, where articulation of one’s cultural and political stands towards the ‘Leninfall’ was left incomplete; it was an ambiguous marker of a citizen’s political identity, and at the same time, an abrupt delineator of popular clichés (e.g. the correlation between one’s geographic and political or cultural identity).

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7.5. Institutionalization of the Leninfall

Compared to peaceful modes of preservation of the communist symbols (e.g. dressing up of the Lenin statues in the Ukrainian traditional t-shirts or painting of monuments in blue- and-yellow colors of the Ukrainian flag), the episodes of sporadic toppling of the Soviet statues attracted particular media attention (Shevel 2015: 14). However, the vandalistic destruction of the communist monuments still appeared as rare cases (Fieldnotes. Ukraine. 2014-2018. Kutkina). Regardless of one’s ‘pro-Soviet’ or ‘anti-communist’ opinions, Ukrainians of different regions expressed support for commemoration rather than complete destruction of their past. They articulated the initiative for the creation of a “Totalitarianism Museum” where the dismantled communist statues could be placed (Fieldnotes: Kyiv, Zaporizhzhya, Lviv, Vinnytsia, Lubny, Poltava, Dnipro. 2014-2018. Kutkina). At the same time, the inability of the state-apparatus to institutionalize change-- to not only pass but to also track implementation of decommunization laws, and the toppling of Soviet symbols in particular, is what also became obvious during my fieldwork. According to Volodymyr Viatrovych (2017: 4), former director of the Institute of National Remembrance and one of the most controversial figures of modern Ukraine, “there is no official database on monuments in Ukraine. In particular, there is no single database when it comes to smaller monuments that exist in villages or smaller cities of the country.” According to Viatrovych, the local people themselves contact the government to report on monuments of Lenin still standing at their ‘backyards.’ It is only after the ordinary citizens’ initiative that “the central government would usually address local authorities as to enforce toppling of monuments down” (Interview. Maryna Nalivaiko.Vinnytsia, May 31, 2017. Kutkina). As such, decommunization could be seen as a rather reactive phenomenon, where potential ‘de-Sovietization’ of the city’s (or village’s) public space relies on awareness and initiative of its residents. In all major cities of Ukraine, a high number of monuments were demolished during the first months of spontaneous decommunization (December 2013-March 2014) (Himka 2015; Motyl 2015; Zabyelina 2017). “It is obvious that, as part of this process, a number of monuments that might have had artistic value were destroyed,” Viatrovych (2017: 2) asserts. Thus, according to Viatrovych, one of the objectives of the decommunization laws was to preserve

151 monuments that have artistic value. The tone of “the pope of decommunization” (Gobert 2017: 35), could be argued, is rather positive, and is meant to leave the audience assured in the absence of a defined procedure. However, ambiguity of regional dismantling of Lenin statues becomes apparent in Viatrovych’s statement: “As a result, a number of monuments that were taken down are now stored at the territory of some regional institutions that have a right to decide on what to do with them next. If the monument has some artistic value, it can be stored at the reservation, and if it holds material value, it can be sold or melted down as to make another monument out of it. That is being decided directly by figures of local governments,” (Viatrovych 2017: 4). For anyone familiar with the cultural context of a post-Soviet state and particularly countries in transition such as Ukraine, the word “some” as an element of official political discourse carries explicit signs of warning. Something ‘being stored in some regional institution’ can be interpreted as that object being lost or stolen rather than kept with care. In fact, altering memorials in Ukraine became an intricate case where authorities actually prolonged decommunization by neglecting its practical implementation. Particularly at the local level, political loyalty of acting authorities to the symbols of the communist regime remained strong (Fieldnotes. Pyriatyn. May 19, 2015; Pereyasliv Khmelnytsky. June 24, 2016; Lybny. June 6, 2015; Nizhyn. February 27, 2016; Nosivka. July 2, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. June 29, 2016; Kharkiv. August 4, 2017. Kutkina). In eastern parts of Ukraine, where the number of adherents to the Soviet past was still “notably high” (Motyl 2015: 12), blocking decommunization was one of the primary means of winning political votes. Objecting to the national policy of decommunization, officials of the cities like Zaporizhzhya postponed toppling of Lenin statues as to both obtain loyalty of potential voters and appease the local population: the citizens who supported or objected removal of communist statues (Interviews. Inna Poltavska. Zaporizhzhya. June 25, 2016; Olena Mysorka. July 2, 2016; Dmytro Zapara. March 16, 2017. Kutkina). Finally, besides unraveling the dilemma on what to do with the toppled statues, the ‘Leninfall’ could be seen as to also improve city administrations’ awareness of the ‘preferences’ of their residents. In the Ukrainian memorial and political landscape of 2014, “Lenin statues have gained certain ideological meanings that could not be reduced to specific evaluation of Lenin as a historical figure or that of the Soviet period in general,” argue the authors of the study of the

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‘Leninfall’ in the cities of Dnipro, Zaporizhzhya and Kharkiv (Gaidai and Liubaretc 2016: 5). A number of academic and media analysts of post-Euromaidan decommunization have taken their arguments as far as to state that “ the fact that [Ukrainians] are taking down the monuments of the only successful revolutionary in the Eurasian history-- anti-imperialist, Lenin, could be seen as one of the primary indicators of no real political revolution occurring in Ukraine” (Bikov 2017: 3). The Curator of Art Projects of Izolyatsia Foundation in Kyiv, Yevgenia Moliar (2017: 9), on the other hand, points at the vexatious Ukrainian state ideology “that condemns any form of criticism.” At the governmental level, decommunization could be seen as “turning into a risky civic procedure, as it demands at least partial re-definition of the citizens' cultural and political identity,” Moliar (2017: 10) argues. One of the primary objectives of this chapter was to restrain from siding with any form of examination of decommunization as a completed phenomenon. The process at both the regional and national scale, the post-Euromaidan decommunization, and toppling of Lenin statues in particular, both maintains and challenges the political order: it implies implementation of the official decommunization laws at both the state and grassroots level, and at the same time, reveals multiple modes of preservation (or re-articulation) of the past by alternative (e.g. artistic) means.

7.6. Conclusions

This chapter has provided an illustration of the ‘Leninfall,’ or massive toppling of Lenin statues, that started at an early stage of the Euromaidan revolution and developed into a chaotic, political and cultural phenomenon. Originally an act of revenge of ‘us’ (the population of post- Euromaidan Ukraine) in the present versus ‘them’ in the past (the Soviet oppressor), as well as ‘them’ in the present (both Yanukovych and Putin regimes), the destruction of communist symbols can be seen as one of the means of demanding immediate change in a state undergoing transition. An offspring of multiple imperial regimes, Ukraine is an example of the state that has

153 strong traditions of retaining its legitimacy by creation and perpetuation of legitimating symbols. This chapter examined the Leninfall as an engaging phenomenon of civic ‘domino effect,’ where the topping of communist statues revealed forms of socio-political plurality, ranging from physical confrontation to discursive and institutional dissent over both physical and ideological legacy of the idols, as well as a potential opportunity for improvement of the state (political system as a whole). It addressed diversity of the preservation of the Soviet statues as a battleground for political control over memory and space, where the narratives of regional and national identity are being re-articulated and entrenched from both the ordinary citizens’ and government officials' position through interaction with communist symbols. What emerged as an expression of a revolt against the oppressive regime of president Yanukovych (2013), the toppling (or sanctioned removal) of Lenin statues is an example of political meaning-making. In this chapter I examined the ‘Leninfall’ as the process that commenced from an overthrow of the ‘central’ monument of Lenin in Kyiv in December 2013 and was immediately contested by representatives of diverse linguistic and socio-political groups of Ukraine. Dispersed through western, central, southern, northern and eastern areas of the country, the ‘Leninfall’ continued to be disputed by ordinary citizens. Compared to those of regional and national officials, the grassroots narratives on decommunization were multivocal by nature and contained artistic components as the primary mode of political self-expression. They varied from open, verbal condemnation of the communist past to the physical toppling of the Lenin statues, as well as artistic preservation of the monuments or graffiti that equated the communist regime with the modern ‘Russian aggressor’. This chapter showed how, within such a process, articulation was the central component of the meaning-making, where diverse, oftentimes polar positions and voices were engaged. Within a broader scale of theoretical analysis of the data examined in this chapter, Bakhtin’s (1981: 271) reading of the world as being “polyglossic or multivocal since every individual possesses his or her own unique worldview which must be taken into consideration through dialogical interaction” is particularly relevant. It takes away pressure of interpreting the grassroots’ multivocality as a temporary or ‘artificial’, as well as underlines the importance of dialogue vis-a-vis the implementation of social changes. The struggle over physical (or ideological) preservation or extermination of the ‘other’ assumes the existence of ‘imagined

154 communities’ (Anderson 1983). This chapter provided empirical grounds for further examination of both formation and development of the ‘imagined communities’ of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine: those of supporters and opponents of decommunization. As I examine further in this work, two primary patterns of the grassroots stands on the demolition of the Soviet heritage can be distinguished: the citizens of Ukraine are either unified around the concept of liberation from the ‘aggressor’ (e.g. the Soviet past or modern Russian state) or, on the contrary, advocate for retaining the Soviet cultural heritage within both physical and cultural space of Ukraine. In either instance, the citizens’ involvement in (re-)articulation of the concept of the ‘other’ is an integral element of political and cultural meaning-making. It implies indirect interaction of the country’s citizens by means of diverse political art (e.g. coloring or dressing of Lenin monuments in the Ukrainian traditional shirt), as well as conduction a political dialogue between the state and the ordinary public in terms of graffiti or political poster exhibitions, for instance. In either form of interaction with communist symbols, there emerged a question on the existing options that the Ukrainian state has for filling the empty space of the Lenin’s plinth, as well as on means of construction and management of the ‘imagined communities.’ The following chapter proceeds with analysis of what I argue to be the ‘final’ stage of post-Euromaidan decommunization. It addresses the filling of the discursive and physical space of ‘decommunized’ Ukraine with ‘new’ ideological and physical symbols. It examines particular cases of the grassroots and state hegemonic formations and looks at how the shelves of bookstores or photographic exhibitions were used by the state to re-articulate controversial figures into a narrative of ‘democratic transition’-- a continuous fight of Ukraine against the Soviet or Russian ‘colonial other.’ It proceeds with the application of the methodological approach of ‘layered textual analysis’ to produce complete sequence of both the discursive and visual layers of the data

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8. Filling the ‘Pedestal’: From Lenin to Bandera

8.1. Introduction

The increasing use of the past for political, commercial and cultural purposes is a national phenomenon of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (Motyl 2015; Kozyrska 2016; Kuzio 2015; Shveda 2016). Derived from an extensive period of administrative chaos of the early years of Ukraine’s independence (1991-onwards), the monopoly over interpretation of the past has been established through the institutionalization of national memory (Gerasimov and Mogilner 2015; Hofland 2015; Szeptycki 2011). Similar to the socio-political aftermath of the 2006 Orange Revolution, the process of identity-making of post-Euromaidan Ukraine involves condemnation of the Soviet past and re-articulation (or institutionalization) of the historical symbols that carry controversial meanings within the socio-political and cultural context of modern Ukraine. This chapter proceeds with examination of what I argue to be the ‘final’ stage of decommunization that was observed within the time-frame of this research: 2013-2018. In particular, it looks at how, upon the official termination of the Euromaidan revolution (summer 2014) and toppling of most of the communist monuments (fall of 2015), both physical and discursive space of Ukrainian cities became filled with controversial symbols and narratives of the past (e.g. Stepan Bandera, Semen Petliura24 or members of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army). I examine multiple forms of articulation and institutionalization of such meanings by the state and analyse both the supportive and contestational discursive formations of the ordinary Ukrainians.

24 Semen Petliura (1879-1926) was a Ukrainian journalist and politician. He was a Supreme Commander of the Ukrainian Army and President of the Ukrainian National Republic (1918-1921). A symbol of Ukraine’s national struggle for independence for part of the Western Ukrainian diaspora, Petliura and his followers (“petliurivtsi”) are also associated with pogroms-- the acts of massive violence against the Jewish population that took place during the Russian civil war. According to the Encyclopedia of Ukraine (Paris-New York: 1970), Petliura and his followers have committed 307 (25%) of crimes against the Jewish population in Odessa during years of 1981- 1922. Source: http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/display.asp?linkpath=pages%5CP%5CE%5CPetliuraSymon.htm. 156

Furthermore, this chapter expands on one of the primary claims of this research—it explores the articulation of what could be seen as a homogenous vision of the country’s past, present and potential future—delineation of the USSR and its legacy as a ‘colonizer’ or the ‘other’ at the official state-level of post-2013 Ukraine. It examines the evolution of implementation of such ‘othering’—the official 2015 ‘decommunization laws’ that entail complete demolition of all communist monuments, the changing of street names and making taboo the Soviet and Nazi insignia. It then conducts analysis of images, graffiti, interview and video data that capture the discursive and physical mechanisms that emerged for filling the ‘post-Lenin’ void—replacement of the communist symbols with controversial figures of the Ukrainian past such as Stepan Bandera, Roman Shukhevych and other leaders of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and the UPA. In this chapter, I will examine how the process of substitution of Lenin ‘with’ Bandera occurred prior to official implementation of the decommunization laws that rendered historical figures of the OUN and UPA inviolable, and took place at both the grassroots and governmental level. I will look at how the motion of de- Sovietization commenced through absorption of visual spaces such as the bookshelves or public squares that became filled with images and narratives on Stepan Bandera as early as in spring 2014. Alongside the first waves of vandalistic toppling of the statues of Lenin across Ukraine (December 2013- 2015), the ‘final’ stage of post-Euromaidan de-Sovietization took multiple forms that ranged from state-promoted glorification of military activities in Donbas to diverse forms of artistic mourning at the grassroots level. I will examine the use of interpretations of the role of Bandera (as well as other nationalist figures of the country’s past) within such process and will address how both the ‘villain’ and ‘heroic’ images of Bandera were applied at both the state and ordinary citizens’ level of decommunization.

The collected data are discussed further to illustrate multiple forms of the meaning- making process, where grassroots views of the democratic transitioning exceed the framework of the toppling of the communist statues or the “renaming of the streets” (Gaidai and Liubaretc 2016: 198). In this chapter, I finalize the examination of the ordinary citizens’ decommunization as the process of articulation of heterogeneous meanings that vary from demolition or preservation of the communist past to both a personal and national quest to fight corruption.

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8.2. The Decommunization laws of post-Euromaidan Ukraine: problems of content and implementation

The following section of this chapter addresses content and implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws. It examines academic debates on the process of passing these reforms and further sets a foundation for analysis of the collected data. The decommunization laws of 2015 are analyzed as the legislative means of articulation of the hegemonic formation of the state that institutionalizes the Soviet past and its socio-political and cultural remnants as an external, colonial ‘other.’ On April 9th of 2015 the Ukrainian parliament adopted a bill that became known as the ‘decommunization laws.’ One of the primary objectives of these laws was to re-address history and historical memory of Ukraine as to both institutionalize the existing grassroots decommunization such as the toppling of communist statues and also, whether deliberately or not, to promote what could be generalized as a somewhat nationalist narrative of the country’s history (Himka 2015; Kotlyar 2017; Nuzov 2016; Shevel 2016). Composed of four laws, the package comprised the following sections provided in this chapter as a reminder for the reader: 1) law no. 2538-1 “on the legal status and honoring fighters for Ukraine’s independence in the 20th century” 2) law no. 2558 “On condemning the communist and National Socialist (Nazi) totalitarian regimes and prohibiting the propaganda of their symbols” 3) law no. 2539 “On remembering the victory over Nazism in the Second World War” 4) law no. 2540 “On access to the archives of repressive bodies of the communist totalitarian regime from 1917-1991.” Prior to official implementation of the reforms, the controversial background of the drafters of the laws, as well as an overall nationalist tone of the bill has been broadly cited. The very idea of the laws was originated by Yuri Shukhevych, the son of a controversial figure from Ukrainian history, Roman Shukhevych. The politician and military leader, Roman Shukhevych was trained by the Germans and served in a Nazi-supervised auxiliary police unit before becoming commander of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) (1943-1944). The primary drafter of the 2015 decommunization laws is a renowned historian and head of the Institute of

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National Memory in Kyiv as of March 2014-September 2019, Volodymyr Viatrovych. Since early days of his career at the political arena of Ukraine (2004-onwards), Viatrovych has been accused by both Ukrainian and international scholarly community of denying the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists’ involvement in the 1941 pogroms in Ukraine, as well as dismissing the collaboration of the Ukrainian Waffen-SS Galizien unit with Nazi Germany as the ‘Soviet Propaganda’ (Marples 2015; Plakhotnik 2016; Mayerchyk 2015). The methods of adoption of the laws also raised a number of questions on the legitimacy of the legislative procedure. As the majority of the votes in favor came from the Petro Poroshenko Bloc25, former Prime Minister Arseniy Yatsenyuk’s People’s Front26, and Oleh Lyashko’s Radical Party27 that initiated the bill, the laws were passed within two days and did not involve democratic, public discussion. In his analysis of the decommunization laws and their implication, Christopher Gilley (2016: 2) draws particular attention to the origins of these reforms. In a number of ways, he argues, “memory politics under President Poroshenko has resembled some of the policies of President Viktor Yushchenko (2005-2010), whose cabinet was responsible for passing approval of toppling down of over 800 monuments of the Soviet era and glorifying controversial figures of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and that of UPA (Ukrainian Insurgent Army).” Such notion of Gilley is particularly important for this research: the ‘repetitive’ nature of decommunization reforms in Ukraine emerged as one of the primary points of concern raised by the interviewees--both civic activists and ordinary citizens of Ukraine (Interviews. Marichka Myaka. Kyiv. May 30, 2015; Petro Shevchenko. Kyiv. July 15, 2016; Anna Zahovska. Vinnytsia. February 29, 2017; Anastasiya Grebenyk. Lybny. June 7, 2017; Andrij Norkov. Kharkiv. July 1, 2017; Olga Shvydka. Ivano Frankivsk. October 12, 2018; Serhiy Skyazhnyy.

25 European Solidarity is a political party in Ukraine. Since 2000, it has its roots in a parliamentary group called Solidarity and exists in various forms as a political outlet for Petro Poroshenko. In 2014, the party won 132 of the 423 contested seats in the Ukrainian Parliamentary election under the name of Petro Poroshenko. In August 2015, the Ukrainian Democratic Alliance for Reform merged into the party. In October 2017 and onwards, the party had about 30,000 members. The party officially decries populism and advocates for pragmatism and realism. Source: https://solydarnist.org/. 26 People's Front is a Ukrainian political party that was founded by Oleksandr Turchynov and Arseniy Yatsenyuk (2014). In 2013, the party won 82 seats in the country’s parliamentary election. In 2019, the party did not submit a list for the snap 2019 parliamentary elections and lost all of its seats, with some of its members running as independent constituencies. Source: http://nfront.org.ua/. 27 The Radical Party (official name is the Radical Party of Oleh Lyashko/ formerly known as the Ukrainian Radical-Democratic Party) was registered in September 2010. The Radical Party is centered on Oleh Lyashko- a combative, populist figure of the Ukrainian political realm. The party advocates lower salary taxes, a ban on agricultural land sale and increase in budget spending on health. It is also known for articulation of strong nationalist sentiments. Source: http://liashko.ua/. 159

Poltava. October 19, 2018. Kutkina). A rather peaceful context of the Orange Revolution and the sacrificial scope of the Euromaidan protests were followed by an upsurge of nationalist articulations at the governmental (or institutional) level (Beichelt 2016; Kulyk 2016; Popova 2015). As I examine further in this chapter, the process of re-articulation of the past evolves into one of the primary focuses of post-revolutionary reforms, where the narrative of the present is being re-articulated around the discursive points of the past. The premises for passing of the 2015 decommunization laws were noted by both political analysts and academics as early as in September 2014, when President Petro Poroshenko laid down a wreath in honor of the Organization of the Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) on the site of single largest massacre of the Holocaust—the shooting of 33,771 Jews on September 29-30, 1941—what became known as the Babi Yar. The place of the massive massacre in Kyiv, Babi Yar was also acknowledged as a burial site of Ukrainian nationalists when President Viktor Yushchenko commemorated them with the memorial. The scholars and analysts working on national memory of Ukraine, such as Gilley (2015) or Oksana Shevel (2015), define victimization of the Ukrainian nationalists as one of the primary methods used by the Ukrainian state to legitimize these controversial figures. The popular argument in favor of defining Stepan Bandera or members of the UPA as heroes of Ukraine is the following: “members of the UPA or OUN were defending Ukraine from both the Soviet and fascist aggressors; they followed same fate as the Jewish victims of the Holocaust and, in broader terms, have suffered repressions of both the communist and fascist regimes” (Motyl 2015: 4). Glorified within the academic, political and civic circles of primarily western regions of Ukraine, “Bandera, Shukhevych or the UPA are considered nationalist criminals and fascist collaborators in eastern and southern parts of Ukraine where the population is over 90 percent Russophone” (Himka 2015: 130). In judicial terms, ‘institutionalization’ of these controversial figures of Ukrainian past took place in October 2014 when President Petro Poroshenko designated the Ukrainian Insurgent Army as “defenders of the Fatherland” and established the official holiday in honor of their memory (Gilley 2015: 4). If, initially, the post-Euromaidan government was cautious about institutionalization of narratives that would deify socially contested figures of the OUN and UPA, official adoption of decommunization laws of 2015 triggered open debates on both the content and application of decommunization reforms particularly in the already inflamed context of the military

160 confrontations in Donbas. Arguably, explicit glorification of militarized figures of the OUN and UPA took place concurrently with intensification of war in Eastern Ukraine—the phenomenon where the state justified military action by drawing a parallel to ‘similar’ military activities of the past. As such, if the removal of communist statues could be seen as the symbolic deliverance from the oppressive Soviet past, passing of the 2015 decommunization laws, the scholars argue, poses important questions on ideological congruence of post-Euromaidan Ukrainian government with European and world democratic principles (Himka 2015; Kozyrska 2016; Shevel 2015). It also questions the effectiveness of post-2013 decommunization reforms as the process of transitioning from the communist to democratic methods of state-reformation. The analysis of public statements of the Ukrainian officials, however, illustrates explicit support of decommunization reforms as being the dominant narrative of the state. One day prior to approval of the laws in Verkhovna Rada28, a historian, political activist and, at that time, chair of the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory, Volodymyr Viatrovych, addressed the parliament members to support the laws. According to Viatrovych (2017: 5), “the unpunished evil [was] growing. Condemnation of crimes [was] not a revenge, but [was] a matter of justice. It is for this reason that European states that survived totalitarianism have passed the laws; they wanted to prove that the newly established democratic states would never revive totalitarian practices.” Upon acceptance of the laws by President Poroshenko, first deputy of the chair of Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, Andriy Parubiy, also referred to the laws as “historic for establishment of the country’s national consciousness, freedom, European aspiration and national unity.” He also noted that “it was due to official implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws that vice [was] condemned and heroes [were] named” (Parubiy 2016). In Viatrovych’s (2017: 2) terms, “it was the absence of politics of decommunization in Ukraine after proclamation of independence [1991] that came as one of the reasons for the neo- Soviet revenge of the Yanukovych regime.” The bearers of the Soviet values are the ones who “compile professional reserve of terrorist formations of the so-called DNR (‘Donetsk People’s

28 The Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine is the unicameral parliament of Ukraine. It is composed of 450 deputies and is lead by a speaker (or a chairman). It is the sole legislative power in Ukraine. The Verkhovna Rada was first established in 1938 as the legislature of the Ukrainian SSR. Within the political domain of modern Ukraine, it determines the framework of domestic and foreign policy, approves the state budget, adopts laws, declares war and peace and defines other political procedures such as elections or impeachment of the President. Source: https://rada.gov.ua/. 161

Republic’) and LND (Luhansk People’s Republic),” Viatrovych (2017: 3) asserts further. For that reason, according to Viatrovych, the matter of decommunization of Ukraine is not only the subject of humanitarian politics, but is also that of national security. The closed nature of the Soviet archives was also one of the preconditions for the annexation of the peninsula of Crimea and the conflict on the territory of Donetsk and Luhansk regions29. One of the major claims of Viatrovych is thus grounded on the idea that it is due to endemic unawareness of Ukrainians about the Soviet repressions, as well as deeds of the OUN and UPA, that war and separatism in Donbas have gained such massive scale: “...The history is much more tormenting than is being assumed. If people knew about atrocities committed by the communist regime, they would have been more ready to resist modern Russian aggression” (Viatrovych 2017). Other supporters of definition of Bandera and members of the OUN and UPA as ‘heroes of Ukraine’, such as Y. Shukhevych or O. Tyahnybok, also argue that “if it was not for Bandera and his followers, there would have been no independent Ukraine whatsoever” (Portnov 2015). As I illustrate further in this chapter, the issue of history of the OUN and UPA and its leaders has been used by different political actors of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. It has not only played a central role in Ukrainian political debates (Yurchuk 2017), but has also served as a ground-point of the state-articulated hegemony of the democratic transition.

29 Volodymyr Viatrovych, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Efxg1TiccUs, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v =zWeJNcAH56Y, accessed in 2018. 162

8.3. The Decommunization laws: objections

Within both academic and political discussion of the laws, existing analysis varies from rhetorical claims such as “the laws [being] falsifying and rewriting ‘true history’ to ‘the laws liberating ‘true’ history from the clutches of the Soviet propaganda” (Shevel 2015: 2). Critics have pointed to anti-democratic nature of both the adoption and implementation of the laws. Submitted to the parliament only a few days prior to the official reading, the bill was voted on without official parliamentary debate, which raised a number of questions on its basic legitimacy. Immediately after its passing, the Ukrainian Human Rights group, Ukrainian historians, the Communist party leaders, members of the Russian Foreign Ministry, as well as western experts and scholars working on Ukraine wrote an open collective letter to the President Petro Poroshenko asking him to veto two of the four laws, those “on legal status of fighters and the totalitarian regimes” (Shevel 2015: 4). One of the primary notions of the critics was on particular danger of reducing public debate which would occur as a result of “legal punishment for expressing wrong opinions on communist period or fighters for Ukraine’s independence” (Shevel 2015: 5). Specifically, law no. 2558 is shown “to establish monosemantic interpretation of the past through bans and prohibition” (Himka 2015: 131). In his analysis of “Laws 2558 and 2538: on Critical Inquiry, the Holocaust, and Academic Freedom in Ukraine,” Gilley (2015: 2) also confirms the ominous aim of the laws that appear to equate Communism and Nazism, while also present them “as external forces to which Ukrainian nationalism was inimical.” Another troublesome articulation of the laws, Gilley (2015: 3) argues, is the article 6 on “responsibility for violating the legislation on the status of the fighters for Ukrainian independence in the 20th century.” The first paragraph postulates that “citizens of Ukraine, foreigners, and also stateless persons who publicly insult the people specified in the article 1 of said Law harm the realization of the rights of fighters for independence of Ukraine in the 20th century, and will be held to account in accordance with Ukrainian law.” The second paragraph of article 6 states that “public denial of the fact of legitimacy of the struggle for Ukrainian independence in the 20th century insults the dignity of the Ukrainian people and is illegal” (Gilley 2015: 5). With such legislative framework, there emerges a dilemma on how to articulate diverse historical findings that touch on aspects of violence committed by the Ukrainian nationalist

163 organizations. Since there is no specific interpretation of what is considered to be “insulting,” for instance, questions as to what both Ukrainian and international scholars and analysts are allowed to write and say are left open. In his discussion of the laws, Gilley (2015: 6) raises an important point on the further perplexity of the matter, citing specific episodes of Ukrainian history: “How can one depict the OUN (b)-initiated pogroms of 1941 in a way that satisfies the serious restrains stipulated by article 6 of law no. 2538? How is the historian supposed to relate the recollections of Viktor Kharkiv “Khamara”—a veteran of the Nachtigall battalion, a Ukrainian nationalist unit under Roman Shukhevych’s command—on how men of the battalion took part in mass shootings in villages of Vinnytsia in the summer of 1941, where, in his words, “in two villages all the Jews we encountered”? How should a scholar represent the events that transpired the Polish village of Poroslia in Volhynia on the night between February 8 and 9, 1943? On that date, the 1st UPA “sotnia” [hundred] under Hryhoryi “Dovbeshka-Korobka” Perehiinian, being short of ammunition, “tied up its 150 residents, including many children, and then crushed their skulls, one after another, with axes.”

The research scholar of the Kennan Institute and a fellow of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Jared McBride, supports such critical analysis of the decommunization laws. He argues that “glorification of the OUN-UPA is not just about history. It is a current political project [that] consolidates a very one-sided view within the Ukrainian society that really only has a deep resonance in the western province of Galicia” (McBride 2015: 7). Though popular in western parts of the country where monuments to members of the OUN/UPA, such as those of Stepan Bandera, or street names commemorating his figure are numerous, World War II nationalist legacy ‘of’ western Ukraine is widely opposed in the country’s eastern regions. In defense of the decommunization laws, Motyl (2015: 58) argues that rather than limiting freedom of speech and glorification of the one-sided vision of the country’s history (Gilley 2015; Himka 2015; Shevel 2015), “the laws will finally make the pursuit of truth possible…[as] Communism and Nazism were equally harmful to Ukraine.” Irrespective of the supportive or negative stand on the laws, the decommunization policy could be seen as the legislative culmination of the Euromaidan revolution. The objective of the laws was to officially detach from the communist past and to bring Ukraine closer to Europe. What seems to be the central problem, however, is the reduction of the historical complexity of the events to the “black-and-white canvas of ideologically acceptable ‘us’ versus politically alien ‘other’” (Shevel 2015: 5). According to official articulation of the laws, the ‘us’ is the

164

Galician model of the Ukrainian national identity that is constructed around glorification of controversial figures and organizations of the Ukrainian past (Himka 2015: 130). ‘Them,’ on the other hand, is the Soviet Union and any form of its legacy. As was observed throughout this research, the Euromaidan revolution was a public, national statement of the kind that opposed socio-cultural oversimplification and any forms of political dictatorship (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. December 18, 2013/April 28, 2014/May-July 2015; Lviv. March 2, 2014; Zaporizhzhya. March 7, 2014; Poltava. April 2, 2014; Kharkiv. June 17, 2015; Nosivka. October 13, 2018. Kutkina). It brought together thousands of voices that articulated diversity as the primary characteristic of ‘new,’ ‘post-colonial’ or ‘anti-communist’ Ukraine. What stands of exceptional interest for this work, and this chapter in particular, is how the highly heteroglossic (Bakhtin 1981) or the multivocal hegemonic formation of the Euromaidan revolution evolved into a counter-hegemonic construction that, since 2014, I argue, co-existed ‘in parallel’ to a homogeneous hegemonic structure of the Ukrainian state; how the empty space of the toppled ‘Lenin’ was filled by the figure of Stepan Bandera and equally controversial figures and symbols of the Galician (‘Western Ukrainian’) origin.

8.4. Nationalization of nationalism: From Lenin to Bandera

The posters of Stepan Bandera on the Christmas tree of Maidan and Khreshchatyk streets in Kyiv appeared already during the first weeks of the Euromaidan revolution (Fieldnotes and videos. Kyiv. December 2013. Kutkina). The images of Stepan Bandera were placed next to the posters of the “Strike Poster” project (e.g. Pictures 20 and 21), as well as alongside the handmade graffiti and t-shirts of the participants of the revolution. The Picture 111 illustrates the content of one of such graffiti: “Lviv has not calmed down yet,” “Glory to Heroes,” “You are forever alive in a heated heart.” “Originated in Galicia in the 1930s as the slogan of the radical right Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN)” (Himka 2015: 130), “Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!” was one of the many visual and narrative symbols of the Euromaidan revolution. It was popularized in the form of graffiti and posters and “became the voice for those

165 who could not find their own words and thus joined the chorus of “Glory to Ukraine,” argues one of the participants of the 2014 February protests in Kyiv (N.V. Documenting Maidan. 2014: 9). Within the context of war in Donbas and the official decommunization laws of 2015, the meaning of controversial nationalist figures such as Stepan Bandera or the originally nationalist slogans were re-articulated (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 1, July 28, 2014/June 17, 2015/February 9, 2018/October 7, 2018. Kutkina). By placing images of Bandera or Symon Petliura next to the photographs of the participants of the Euromaidan revolution or soldiers who died during war in Donbas (Picture 112), the original meaning of Bandera, Petliura and other controversial Ukrainian figures was changed. Picture 112 illustrates this phenomenon. It was taken at the Sofiivska Square in Kyiv in June 2015. By that time, war in Donbas has been going on for over a year, with multiple platforms for commemoration of soldiers killed in Donbas being installed by both the ordinary Ukrainians and the government. When this picture was taken, it was unclear whether the image of Petliura was placed next to the commemoration-board of the Ukrainian soldiers of Donbas by one of the ordinary citizens or whether this act was a political articulation of the state. However, in this photograph, as a renowned nationalist leader who led Ukraine’s struggle for independence in early 20th century, Petliura is supplementing the chain of Ukrainians who died for freedom and independence of their state. The text of the image of Petliura says: “On April 25th of 1926, in Paris, the Moscow-bolshevist agent murdered the head of the directory of the Ukrainian People’s Republic, leading Ottoman Symon Petliura”. Though indirectly, a clear discursive parallel is established between Petliura and Ukrainian soldiers of Donbas who are defined as victims of Moscow. Against the background of the 2015 decommunization laws, the controversial historical figures are equated to modern heroes of Ukraine. The placement of images of Petliura next to pictures of the Ukrainian soldiers is raising additional ethical question on whether, if being alive, the soldiers of war in Donbas would be supportive of making the defenders of modern Ukraine synonymous of figures like Petliura or Bandera. From the poststructuralist perspective, identities do not pre-exist the moment of articulation: the way in which we tie the name to a field of references lends the identity to the name (Palonen 2018: 101). Looking at the collected data, there emerges a further question on the possibility of articulation of multiple identities within a single space that would be reflective

166 of heterogeneous nature of the elements and yet, be unifying enough as to create a sense of regional or national community. The fieldwork data illustrate diverse means of dealing with such a complex task. While monuments of Lenin and other communist symbols were removed both as part of spontaneous nationalist raids and institutionalized state-sanctioned toppling, presentation of controversial figures of Bandera, Shukhevych or members of the UPA as founding fathers of ‘pro-European’ transition implies articulation of nationalist symbols into ‘new’ elements of modern democratic reforms. The following section of this chapter examines particular instances of such practice. It traces the ‘evolution’ of ‘democratization’ of nationalist discourse and its symbols in the context of post-Euromaidan decommunization.

8.4.1. Bandera and the nationalist discourse

Sixty years after his assassination, Stepan Bandera still triggers debates in both academic and political circles of Ukraine and beyond. Before leaving office in early 2010, President Viktor Yushchenko awarded Bandera the rank of a Hero of Ukraine. On the one hand, this prompted a line of political speculations; on the other, it provoked academic debates where adherents of Bandera and OUN also took part. In his publication, Strasti za Banderoui (“Passions for Bandera”), Rossolinski-Liebe divides the participants of the existing academic debates into three groups: 1) Historians with critical approach to Bandera’s legacy (John-Paul Himka, Franziska Bruder, David Marples, Per Anders Rudling, or the author himself); 2) “liberal and ‘progressive’ Ukrainian scholars such as Yaroslav Hrytsak, Andrii Portnom, Vasyl’ Rasevych, or Mykola Riabchuk;” and 3) the defenders of Bandera (Volodymyr Viatrovych, Marco Levytsky, or Askold Lozynskyj). In his analysis of the Rossolisnki-Liebe’s classification, Yuri Radchenko (2013: 14) evaluates the criteria used for the approach as “excessively vague.” According to Radchenko (2013: 15), Rossolisnki-Liebe “takes a sharply critical approach to the cult of the OUN, UPA and the SS “Galicia” division in Ukraine and among the Ukrainian diaspora...and [at the same time], discusses this subject very much from the perspective of an outsider; nor does he offer Ukrainian society any suggestion for a way out of this trap.” Such

167 criticism, I argue, could be applied to works on Bandera or cult (or denial) of the OUN and UPA as a whole. In post-Euromaidan Ukraine, where support or objection to the figure of Bandera, for instance, could be seen as an indicator of one’s ‘pro-European’ or ‘pro-Russian’ stand (Fieldnotes. Vinnytsia. February 15, 2017. Kutkina), the existence of a dialogue is particularly important. Within such a stance, the academic circle remains one of the few spheres where explicit and manifold discussion is possible, and where discord is a distinctively positive phenomenon. After the factual termination of the Euromaidan revolution (summer of 2014), discretionary expression of one’s socio-political stands has declined (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 16, 2014; Vylkove. June 28, 2015; Dnipro. March 10, 2016; Poltava. June 8, 2016; Kryviy Rih. February 29, 2017; Ivano Frankivsk. April 12, 2017; Zaporizhzhya. October 2, 2018. Kutkina). As was noted during fieldwork trips to different regions of the country in June of 2014, February and April of 2017, and October of 2018, public discussion of decommunization took place as part of ‘institutionalized’ political events such as Viche30, the Presidential inauguration, or diverse political exhibitions. The special English-language issue of the magazine Prostory, “Documenting Maidan,” that I obtained at the Pinchuk Art Center (Kyiv, 2014), contains a series of opinion pieces of intellectuals, artists and ordinary citizens. The authors of this collection raise important questions on ‘methodology’ of post-Euromaidan government when it comes to articulation of history within the public space. In her essay “Translating the Euromaidan: A translator’s view of reasoning strategies”, Anastasia Afanasyeva outlines what I claim to be an integral problem of the Ukrainian post-2013 political culture—the lack of transparent presentation of diverse regional narratives as part of a common, national discourse. “We are dealing here with fundamentally different strategies of communication. While the Ukrainian side is convinced that the Maidan movement will be better legitimated when questionable elements are ignored, it is this very lack of a confrontation of these questionable issues that calls the entire movement’s credibility into question for Western Europe. The failure to open up to criticism is considered blind ideologization. Returning to Doris Bachmann- Medick’s question on finding strategies to solve a conflict of understanding, the answer once

30 As a reminder for the reader, Viche is the term that describes manifestation of popular rule, analogous to the popular meetings held in the cities of ancient Greece and in Western European cities during the Middle Ages. It obtained particular importance within the context of Euromaidan Revolution when hundreds of ordinary citizens gathered at the Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square to express their socio-political demands and to have an open dialogue with representatives of the government. Source: http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/ display.asp?linkpath=pages%5CV%5CI%5CVicheIT.htm. 168 again lies in a demand for reflective negotiation. It is only possible for both sides of Ukraine to reach transcultural comprehension when both sides have recognized the other’s strategies and each side’s motivations have been discussed together” (Afanasyeva 2014: 36).

Prior to official recognition of the ‘othering’ strategies, however, the very existence of multiple discourses or ‘sides’ has to be acknowledged. What was observed in various types of data collected during the fieldwork is actually the opposite—the monopolization of national discourse by the symbols of the western Ukrainian region. I argue that ‘nationalization of nationalism’ has occurred as part of natural political evolution where the empty space of post- revolutionary domain has been filled by the narratives of most politically-active population. “When I saw that people in Kyiv were coming out to protest I thought about how in Donetsk no one would come out. People might be up for going to some festival or other but to come out and declare your political position—no one was interested in that,” shares one of the participants of Euromaidan revolution, Zhenya (Documenting Maidan, 2015: 48). “I wrote to a few people I knew but they all wrote back saying things like “well, wait and see what happens in Kyiv, maybe it’s no big deal.” Well, fine then, I said. I’ll go on my own,” he continues (Documenting Maidan, 2015: 48). This personal document entitled “Heading out” was recorded by the author as early as November 21st of 2013. Large-scale demonstrations that followed in Donetsk and other areas of eastern Ukraine composed the integral part of an overall narrative of the Euromaidan protests. However, further analysis of video and photographic material collected as part of this research illustrates that ‘nationalization of nationalism’ commenced from utilization of physical and discursive space of the capital, Kyiv, followed by other cities of Ukraine. The streets, buildings and monuments of Kyiv were the first to experience official, massive rearticulation with the shift of political epochs—to function as both an object and a scheme of political identification. The process of transitioning from ‘communism’ to ‘Europe’ took place as an ‘evolution’ of meanings: the multivocal posters or graffiti of the Euromaidan revolution, as well as communist symbols (e.g. statues of Lenin) were replaced by controversial figures of the past-- Bandera, Petliura or members of the UPA. In geographic terms, legitimization of symbols of early-mid twentieth century Ukrainian ‘struggle for independence’ (Marples 2006; Motyl 2010; Narvselius 2015) or ‘nationalist movement’ (Himka 2015; Katchanovsky 2010; Rossolinski-Liebe 2014) was recorded to evolve into not only a regional, but also a national occurrence. As was cited earlier, first, openly

169 displayed posters of Bandera and the insignia the ‘Right Sector’ (‘Pravyi Sektor31’) appeared at Maidan Nezalezhnosti square in December 2013. The photographs of the black-and-red flags of the Right Sector (Pictures 119 and 120) were taken at Khreschatyk Street and Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square in Kyiv in May 2014. They capture the flags of the ‘Right Sector’ being placed on the walls and balconies of the buildings, tents, bridges and monuments, when the tents and other emblems of the participants of the Euromaidan revolution (e.g. images of the peaceful ‘Strike Poster’ project) were still displayed. During the Euromaidan revolution, the insignia of the Right Sector was one of the many elements of the visual narrative of the protest. Since 2013, however, I argue, the nationalist groups obtained the role of civic elements that were transforming the perception of nationalist formations in Ukraine. Being one of the most active participants of the revolution, and later one of the core units of the Ukrainian army in Donbas, the right wing’s apprehension was transformed from ‘radical’ and ‘nationalist’ entity to that of the primary units representing political demands of Ukrainians. As an overall estimation of the far right participation in the Maidan protests (Ishchenko 2016) lies beyond the scope of this research, I argue that since spring 2014, the troops of the Right Sector have been one of the most active participants of war in Donbas, protecting independence and territorial integrity of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. Two years into military operation in Donbas, the definition of units such as the Right Sector as being “patriots” and “fearless protectors of Ukraine” (Katchanovsky 2016: 12) became the primary narrative of the state (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 28, 2016/August 2, 2017; Lviv. February 10, 2016; Vinnytsia. February 12, 2016; Myrhorod. June 8, 2016; Kharkiv. August 7, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. June 23, 2017. Kutkina). The photograph that was taken as part of the fieldtrip to Kharkiv in June 2016 (Picture 121) captures the Right Sector insignia as the primary element of the military agitation campaign. It is composed of chromatic colors of the Right Sector flag (originally, the red and black colors of the UPA flag) and the Ukrainian flag (blue

31 The organization Правий сектор (the “Right Sector”) is a far-right Ukrainian nationalist movement and party. It was established in November of 2013 as a confederation of right-wing nationalist groups and street fighting soccer fans. It was formed in late November of 2013 as a confederation of street fighting soccer fans and right- wing nationalist groups: the Social-National Assembly, Trident (Dmytro Yarosh), UNA/ Yuriy Shukhevych, Patriot of Ukraine (Andriy Belitsky), White Hammer, and Carpathian Sich. It was named after the effort of the groups to protect the right side of the Euromaidan protesters. The Right Sector became one of the primary actors of the Euromaidan revolution, and later one of the primary units of the Ukrainian army in Donbas. Source: https://pravyysektor.info

170 and yellow), and presents the following message: “Right Wing: Who if not me? When if not right now?” (“Правый сектор: Як не я— то хто? Як не тепер— то коли?”). It also contains images of heroes of the “Holy Hundred”—protestors of Euromaidan who gave their lives for Ukraine, as well as an image that symbolizes ‘traditional’ Ukrainian woman—“The Ukrainian woman: Protector of the family and the land” (“Українка-- берегиня роду та краю”). This poster was part of an exhibition located directly across the former central monument of Lenin, which was dismantled by the officials of Kharkiv in June 2016. Similarly, the images of Bandera and flags of the Right Sector were observed at the central squares of different regions of Ukraine and, in particular, the empty pedestals of the communist statues (Fieldnotes: Lybny. June 4, 2016; Kharkiv. June 29, 2016; Nosivka. February 11, 2017; Kyiv. May 18, 2016/October 6, 2018. Kutkina). Presented as posters, graffiti or public artistic installations across Ukraine, ‘nationalist’ symbols constructed a new hegemonic formation where the term or figure of ‘nationalist’ obtained new meaning-- that of a hero, protector and patriot of Ukraine. However, particularly in eastern Ukraine idealization of nationalist figures and their insignia were contested. Along the slogans that articulated an openly pro-European or pro- Ukrainian position, the Nazi insignia were a common element of the graffiti (Fieldnotes. Zaporizhzhya, Kharkiv, Dnipro. 2014-2017. Kutkina). The picture taken in Zaporizhzhya in June 2014, for instance, shows a graffiti that encourages usage of Ukrainian instead of Russian (Picture 122: “Language [in Ukrainian] and not ‘Language [in Russian]” (“Мова а не язык”). An openly ‘pro-Ukrainian’ narrative, it is conveyed by the swastika. Another photograph taken in Lubny (central Ukraine) in June 2016 captures two controversial narratives: “Stop to junta32: NO to War” (“Хунту STOP Нет Войне”) (written in Russian in red) and “Junta will be! Yes to Nazism” (“Хунта буде. Да нацизму” (written Ukrainian in blue) (Picture 123). Both of these graffiti articulate the phenomenon where bearers of the ‘pro-Russian’ and ‘pro-Ukrainian stands are involved in an artistic form of public dialogue. An opponent of war (text in red) calls for termination of military activities by addressing the pro-Ukrainian side as ‘Junta’ (the term that was also commonly used by the Russian propaganda media campaign during and shortly after the Euromaidan revolution). The ‘answer’ that follows (text in blue written on top of original

32 A junta is a military government that has taken power by force, and not through elections. Within the socio- political context of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine, the term ‘junta’ has been used by the opponents of Euromaidan revolution who called the participants of the protest in Kyiv and other cities of Ukraine ‘junta’. Source: https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/junta. 171 graffiti) ‘confirms’ persistence of ‘junta’ by implying continuation of the presence of Ukrainian forces in Donbas. At the same time, the latter graffiti (Picture 123) contains affirmation of Nazism—“Yes to Fascism.” Similar to political posters of the early days of the Euromaidan revolution (e.g. the posters of “Strike Poster” project), these graffiti are examples of what I argue to be a heteroglossic hegemonic formation at the grassroots level: the citizens of Ukraine are involved in articulation of their diverse political position through multiple forms of artistic ‘dialogism’ (Bakhtin 1981). The grassroots political discussion is meant to spark social change and is articulated within the physical framework of objects in urban and rural environment. During the fieldwork trips, multiple forms of dialogism or the juxtaposition of the homogeneous and heterogeneous hegemonic formations were observed as the primary mode of meaning-making. Numerous graffiti that combined both the appeasing discourses of national unity and symbols of nationalist content such as swastika or UPA/OUN were captured by photographs and videos taken across Ukraine. In Picture 124 from February 2017 in Lviv (western Ukraine), for instance, we see a quote from a famous Ukrainian singer Kuzma (addressed in chapter 6) written on the walls of one of the buildings. It articulates hope for a better future of Ukraine despite all the political turmoil : “if wherever you look is darkness and color-black that means you fell asleep and tomorrow will be better” (Fieldwork. February 2017. Lviv. Kutkina). In this picture, the word ‘Lviv’ is written as to hint a swastika sign which is placed next to uplifting message of Kuzma. Similar instances of placement of nationalist symbols next to diverse messages of democratization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine were seen in eastern and central Ukraine. Picture 125 is another image that captures exaltation of nationalist elements: an image of the graffiti painted in the city of Kryviy Rih (eastern Ukraine), it defines the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists as that of “power and honor” (November 2016. Kryviy Rih). The graffiti “Glory to Ukraine”, accompanied by swastika (Picture 126), was also observed in the city of Poltava (central Ukraine, April 2015). Next to this image, another graffiti that promotes national unity of Ukraine was painted (Picture 125): “West and East are together forever. P.R.O. -- D. Shukhevych” (Poltava. April 2015). Examining the style of these images, it could be assumed that both of these messages were painted by the same author(s). As such, the process of articulation of ideologically diverse messages-- ‘pro-European’ or ‘pro-Russian’ political stands, took place in the form of public contestation of meanings. As I illustrate further in this chapter, messages of diverse, at times controversial political content constructed a

172 powerful hegemonic formation of the grassroots level. As was the case during the Euromaidan revolution, it was articulated in graffiti, political posters and other forms of political art. The city-contexts of post-Euromaidan Ukraine, therefore, provide the space for new interpretation of the controversial symbols of the past. The objects of urban space (such as walls of the buildings or pedestals of the monuments) are used as canvases for articulation of political meanings which further create a framework of the ‘imagined communities’: without meeting or interacting with each other face-to-face, the authors of graffiti (or the participants of toppling or preservation of the communist statues) associate themselves with each other and construct the socio-political space where articulation of political stands becomes an act of regional and national identity-making. Within such a context, construction of heterogeneous hegemonic formation takes place by overlapping of one meaning with another-- articulation of multilayered discursive formations. As both nationalist and anti-Bandera (or anti-UPA narratives) co-exist within the space of the same graffiti or poster, for instance, the borders between political elements or stands become blurred.

8.4.2. Bookshelves as mirrors of decommunization

Further in this chapter I illustrate how post-2013 decommunization became the process of two primary political articulations: the substitution of empty space of the Lenin statues by historic nationalist figures of 20th century Ukrainian, and active articulation of the communist (or Russian) history and present as the colonial ‘other.’ Besides appearing as posters, graffiti or sporadic images such as that of Shukhevych placed next to photographs of soldiers of Donbas (Picture 112), the controversial figures of the Ukrainian past were introduced by the government in diverse forms. The first explicit visual evidence of what I refer to as ‘nationalization’ of decommunization was observed in May and June 2014 in the cities of Kyiv, Vinnytsia, Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhya, Kryvyi Rih and Lviv. In particular, I noticed a tendency of the glorification of Bandera, Shukhevych or members of the UPA on book-covers exhibited in the windows of major bookstores. At first, this was observed in Kyiv in early May once the facades of the stores

173 that were damaged by the revolutionary activities were restored. While numerous tents of the Euromaidan revolution, as well as posters of peaceful and multivocal nature were still part of the Maidan Nezalezhnosti square, central bookstores, such as Knygarnya E (Книгарня Є) in Kyiv, became particularly representative of what could be seen as re-articulation of nationalist figures into ‘new’ heroes or role models of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. The books with images of Bandera, Klyachkisvsky or Kuk (leaders of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army) on their cover were placed at the forefront of all major bookstores of Kyiv, as well as other cities of Ukraine (Fieldnotes. Lviv. June 27, 2014; Chernihiv. March 7, 2015; Kharkiv. June 30, 2016; Myrhorod. July 2, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. July 14, 2017; Dnipro. August 3, 2017. Kutkina). Since high number of bookstores in Kyiv, Zaporizhzhya or Lviv, for instance, are located at the busiest streets and occupy prominent parts of the buildings—usually capacious halls with wide exhibitory windows, the books composed a visual and ideological frontier: by virtue of bright, artistic presentations of Bandera or members of the UPA as ‘modern’ heroes of Ukraine, they articulated a clear narrative of admiration of these controversial nationalist figures. The exterior of Knygarnya E (Книгарня Є), for instance, is particularly reflective of this phenomenon. Founded in 2007 by the Austrian company ECEM Media GmbH, which is also the founder of the popular magazine “Ukrainian Week,” the chain of Knygarnya E has 25 bookstores in 12 most populated cities of Ukraine. In Kyiv alone, as of 2017, it held 10 bookstores, three in Lviv, one in Dnipro, two in Kharkiv, as well as stores in cities of Ivano- Frankivsk, Volodymyr-Volynsk, Vinnistia, Ternopil, Rivne, Lutsk, Khmelnytskyi, and Sumy (north-eastern region). It is one of the largest book-chains of Ukraine and is famous for its specialization in Ukrainian literature, as well for being a meeting-point of numerous cultural gatherings—book-presentations, round tables, literary and academic assemblies. The bookshelves of Kyiv, Zaporizhzhya or Lviv (e.g. Pictures 113-116) articulate an explicit phenomenon of decommunization and ‘nationalization’ of the Ukrainian public and intellectual space by referring to both the 20th century and early, Kievan Rus’33 history.

33 Kievan Rus' was a federation of East Slavic and Finnic peoples in Europe (9th-13th century) under the reign of the Varangian Rurik dynasty.The modern nations Ukraine, Russia and Belarus claim Kievan Rus’ as their cultural and socio-political origin. Source: http://resource.history.org.ua/cgi-bin/eiu/history.exe ?&I21DBN =EIU&P21DBN=EIU&S21STN=1&S21REF=10&S21FMT=eiu_all&C21COM=S&S21CNR=20&S21P01=0& S21P02=0&S21P03=TRN=&S21COLORTERMS=0&S21STR=Kyivska_Rus. 174

The political significance of these books is clear: the majority of the books have Stepan Bandera in their titles and are related to his figure (or members of the OUN/UPA) either directly or collaterally. For example, the book in Picture 113 (half open, white cover and image of Stepan Bandera) is entitled “Stepan Bandera…when one says: ’Glory to Ukraine!’” (Posivnych 2015). To its left another piece is called “Stepan Bandera: The Human and Myth” (Gordesevych 2008). Other books which are captured within this photograph are entitled “Baptism of Rus’”, “The Epoch of Kozacksdorm in the Ukrainian Literature,” “The Hetmanate34,” or “National Ukraine.” The lower shelf contains books of the following titles: “Legends of Lviv” (Vynnychuk 2014), “Ukrainian Traditions and Habits,” “History of the Ukraine-Rus’” (Arkas 2012), “Project- Ukraine” (Yanevskyj 2015 (4 books), “Project. “Ukraine” (Lytvin 2015), “Country-Moksel or Moskovia” (Bilinskiy 2006), and, once again, “Ukraine-Rus” (Bilinskiy 2013). The images of the bookshelves of another store of Knygarnya E in Kyiv (June 2015) (e.g. Pictures 114 and 116) also display narratives dedicated primary to the OUN and UPA, as well the figure of Symen Petlura—the founding statesman of the Ukrainian People’s Republic. They are entitled “Forest Guys: Prose of UPA” (Tonyk 2014), and “The Emperor of the United States: Big Escape from Galychyna (Pollak 2014). Linguistic choice of words such as “kholpci” (“хлопці” in Ukrainian), or ‘guys,’ gives an effect of proximity or familiarity of main characters of the books—members of the UPA, as if to bring them ‘closer’ to ordinary Ukrainians and make them part of modern national discourse. The figure of Stepan Bandera (Picture 112) is also deprived of his military uniform: he is ‘dressed’ in a jacket, shirt and a tie that stylistically resemble modern rather than early-mid 20th century outfit. A similar method of portrayal of the political leaders as ‘approachable’ or ‘close to people’ (Aulich and Sylvestrova 1999: 48) was also used by the communist regime as powerful means of ideological propaganda. As a space for intellectual representation, as well as physical ‘façade’ of the cities, bookstores were also used as means for articulation of ‘us’ and ‘them’—arguably, that of the ‘west’ and ‘east,’ Ukraine and Russia (or former Soviet Union). On June 18, 2016 I interviewed a colleague of artistic director of Knygarnya E in Kyiv, Oksana Levkova. One of the primary

34 The Ukrainian State, sometimes also called the Hetmanate, was an anti-socialist government that existed on most of the modern territory of Ukraine from April 29 to December 14, 1918. As Ukraine turned into a provisional dictatorship of Hetman of Ukraine Pavlo Skoropadskyi, the Hetmanate outlawed all socialist-oriented political parties, creating an anti-Bolshevik front. The Hetmanate is one of the primary symbols of political independence and nationhood of Ukraine. Source: incognita.day.kyiv.ua › getmanat-ta-jogo-rol-v-istoriyi. 175 objectives of the interview was to discover the criteria used for selection of books by the stores such as Knygarnya E or Bukva. When asked about the possibility of ‘ideological censorship’ for selection of books for their store, Levkova replied that “the only criteria [they] follow is to not let separatist ideas in” (Interview: Oksana Levkova. June 18, 2016. Kutkina). In other words, all the narratives presented at the bookstore were to correspond to official ‘pro-Ukrainian’ ideology of the state. Upon completion of the interview, the question for further research on ‘what constitutes separatist narratives’ has emerged-- in particular, what is the space (if any) that is given to Ukrainians who do not share explicitly anti-Soviet socio-political stands or are not adherents of the OUN or UPA? As I examine further in this chapter, an attempt to re- politicize the transforming post-revolutionary space-- ‘nationalization’ of the bookshelves, is one of the many possible forms of political ‘re-articulation’ of history, as well as the nation as such. The second dominant narrative that materialized within the shelves of the bookstores was that on war in Donbas (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May 3, 2014/June 7, 2015/June 22, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. June 3, 2014; Kharkiv. June 19, 2016; Kryvyi Rih. February 27, 2017. Kutkina): extensive number of books on ‘war in the east’ were exhibited next to those on Bandera or UPA. The image of the bookshelf of Knygarnya E in Kyiv taken in June 2015 (Picture 117) shows the following titles: “The Awakening” (Ruslan San-Marino 2015), “Three Hours Without War” (Butchenko 2015) and “Nadia: Strong Name” (Savchenko 2015), autobiographical diary of Nadiya Savchenko35. Most texts on war in Donbas were collections of personal stories of the soldiers. Often, the style of narratives of these texts was personal and reminded one of a diary that was made ‘public’ with reference to a broader socio-political context of the state. The primary ‘messages’ articulated within these books were those of heroism, as well as inevitability of mental and physical trauma that developed hand-in-hand with increase of the spirit of patriotism. Finally, extensive literature on war in Donbas was used by the government and civic activists to include all discourses ‘from the east’-- “we are by no means excluding eastern

35 Nadiya Savchenko is a Ukrainian politician and a first lieutenant in the Ukrainian Ground Forces. During War in Donbass (2014), Savchenko served as an instructor of the Aidar Battalion, a voluntary infantry unit. She was captured by pro-Russian forces in eastern Ukraine in June of 2014 and was then imprisoned in Russia under the accusation of directing artillery fire that caused the death of two Russian journalists. Savchenko remained in the Russian jail until May or 2016. She was released from jail as part of an exchange in a prisoner swap and was awarded a Hero of Ukraine/Order for Courage (2017). Source: https://www.ukrinform.ua/tag- savcenko. 176 narratives…all the war stories are published and ready to be heard by the Ukrainian public,” Levkova asserted (Interview. Kyiv. June 18, 2016. Kutkina). Therefore, articulated in the same physical and discursive space of the bookstores, the narratives of glorification of controversial figures of the country’s history were unified with modern, personal stories of the Ukrainian soldiers: the struggle for independence and territorial integrity was articulated into a broader ‘heroic’ horizon of the state. As the items of both intellectual and artistic domain, I argue, books are one of the many elements of this meaning- making process. Exposed in the bookstores and sold across the country, they are powerful contextual and visual elements of post-Euromaidan decommunization. They contributed to the creation of imagined communities where citizens are accustomed to the idea of nationalist figures being role models of the country’s struggle for independence, and at the same time, are unified by the image of war that is both distant and eminently personal. In broader terms, the books on Donbas construct a collection of personal stories of soldiers, volunteers, journalists and ordinary citizens who have experienced raw, vivid exposure to the military actions (Fieldnotes: Kyiv. Cherkasy. Chernihiv. Lviv. Vinnytsia. Zaporizhzhya. Dnipro. Kharkiv. Odessa. 2014-2017. Kutkina). One of the primary characteristics of these texts is that their authors-- the ordinary Ukrainians, are willing to share intimate stories on the traumatizing effects of war. Stylistically, the stories vary from diary entries of everyday activities such as training, preparing ammunition, eating, cleaning or resting to broader, novel- like narratives on specific military tasks performed in Donbas—famous battles such as the Illovaisk Massacre36 (August 2014) or the storming of the Donetsk airport (September 2014). Similar to posters and numerous artistic exhibitions presented at the Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square or the Pinchuk Art Center in Kyiv, books on Donbas articulate the heterogeneous hegemonic formation at the grassroots level. By exposing diverse, multivocal perceptions of war, they promote patriotism by making a localized military confrontation-- war in the Donbas region, a national, ‘personal’ story of all Ukrainians. At the same time, brutalities of war are

36 The Battle of Ilovaisk started on 7 August 2014, when the Armed Forces of Ukraine began a series of attempts to capture the city of Ilovaisk against the pro-Russian insurgents affiliated with the self-proclaimed Donetsk People's Republic (DPR). On August 18th 2014, the Ukrainian forces entered the city when they became encircled between 24-26 August by overwhelming Russian military forces that crossed the border, joining the battle. As of August 14 2015, 366 Ukrainian soldiers have died, 429 were injured, 128 were captured by the pro- Russian (or ‘separatist’) groups and 158 people went missing. The Ilovaisk massacre is considered one of the bloodiest moments of war in Donbas. Source: https://www.radiosvoboda.org/a/ilovajsk-spohady/30136220.html. 177 also externalized and romanticized, as posters and books on Donbas construct glorifying narratives of heroes who ‘go to the east to bring the victory home.’ In this framework, the ‘east’ (even if that of the homeland-- Donbas) is presented as the ‘other,’ and at the same time, as an integral side of national value. The books on Stepan Bandera and the UPA, on the other hand, raise specific questions on socio-political and cultural objectives of glorification of the ‘heroic’ figures. In particular, as the author of Stepan Bandera, Mykola Posivnycha asserts, the primary goal of his work is to “enrich the existing debates on who Bandera truly was, and to address the dilemma of whether he was a hero, a traitor, or a true symbol of the Ukraine’s fight for independence” (Fieldnotes. Knygarnya E. Public seminar. July 12, 2015. Kyiv. Kutkina). Another author, Bilinskiy (2013: 25) argues that one of the objectives of books on Bandera, as well as works on the origins of Ukraine and Kievan Rus’, for example, is “to demolish myths of the Soviet and Russian historians and political scientists who fuel cynical propaganda on common origins of Russia and Ukraine.” The articulation of the ‘other’ within the intellectual and political context of post- Euromaidan Ukraine, therefore, is recorded by this research to take diverse forms. It varies from political statements of the official state representatives (e.g. the Independence Day speech of President Petro Poroshenko37 on August 24, 2018) to multiple forms of political acts and cultural expressions (e.g. demolition of the communist statues). The primary concepts that emerge as key thematic lines in post-2013 Ukrainian political/social literature could also be found within the international literary scope: nationalism, regional polarity or identity formation (Chikhi 2014; Owczarzak 2010; Wilson 2014). What arises as an important subject for further research is the scale of ‘filtration’ of books, for instance, by the state that promotes democratization. The concept of freedom of speech and equality of presentation of one’s political or cultural stands, as the analysis of the collected data reveals, is a timely one for post-Euromaidan Ukraine: as a new hegemony of a ‘free and independent state’ is being articulated, old, what could be seen as partially Soviet methods of softer, yet explicit homogenization of ‘heroes,’ as well as the ‘other,’ is apparent.

37 The Independence Day speech of President Petro Poroshenko. Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=UzssrekMtSw. Accessed August 26, 2017. 178

8.5. The Other-- ‘One hundred years of fighting for independence’

Since the Euromaidan revolution, re-articulation of memory and national identity became the dominant visual and discursive narrative. It evolved through articulation, juxtapositioning and contestation of different elements of Ukrainian history and association of modern Ukrainian socio-political course with the nation’s past. In his article “Russia as Ukraine’s ‘Other’: Identity and Geopolitics,” Mikhail Molchanov (2015: 4) defines “vilification of Russia in Ukraine [as] reaching unusual proportion.” He addresses the socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine as “nationalist othering of Russia” and claims that the origins of this process “go long way back to the mid-nineteenth century” (Molchanov 2015: 5). He further argues that “the othering of the opponent serves as a potent instrument of war mongering on the part of the Ukrainian government today” (Molchanov 2015: 5). Similar stands on the Ukrainian-Russian relations are found within both international and, to a lesser degree, Ukrainian scholarly community (Ernst 2014; Prostakov 2014; Tsygankov 2009). This research aligns with the claim of modern Ukrainian-Russian relations being rooted in the countries’ common and combative past. I also assert that the ‘othering’ of Russia has been one of the dominant mechanisms of political meaning-making of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. However, the process of articulation of Russia as the ‘other’ is a complex phenomenon. It has been performed by both the nationalist elements (e.g. radical nationalist minority groups toppling the Lenin statues in different cities of Ukraine), the post-Euromaidan government and the ordinary citizens of different political and cultural backgrounds. The ‘othering’ takes place through construction of discourses as an attempt to fix meanings within a particular political domain (Laclau and Mouffe 1985). Multiple meanings that emerge through contestation are articulated into a dominant horizon of social orientation, or hegemony. Within such a process, every element (or world-view) conditions one another and, as Bakhtin (1981: 13) argues, “must be taken into consideration by means of dialogical interaction.” It is important to note that the othering of Russia within the socio-political context of post-2013 Ukraine is not exclusively an act of nationalism. Instead, as being discussed in the remaining part of this chapter, I propose to examine glorification of Bandera or UPA, or what could be seen as a ‘negative portrayal of Russia’, as an attempt to find new national meaning(s).

179

By means of both juxtaposition and the collision of particular elements of history (and/or the present), articulation of decommunization takes place as to construct new symbols of a socio- political and cultural present. Nationalist figures are used by the government to emphasise historical continuity of Ukraine striving for independence. Whether amalgamation of visuals (or figures) of the past with those of the present is an effective mechanism of democratic transitioning of a culturally and socio-politically heterogeneous state, however, is another question for further research.

8.5.1. Bandera and Russia: heteroglossia of interpretations

The analysis of the collected data shows that replacement of old communist symbols with controversial figures of the Soviet-Ukrainian history is the prevailing characteristic of post- Euromaidan decommunization. Particularly after the official implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws, the figures of Stepan Bandera (as well as members of the OUN or UPA) emerged as primary symbols of anti-colonial transitioning (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May-June 2014/October 10, 2015/November 3, 2017/October 12, 2018; Lviv. June 8, 2014/February 4, 2017; Lybny. June 9, 2016/May 10, 2017; Luka. June 2, 2017; Kharkiv. July 1, 2016/June 29, 2017; Zhytomyr October 10, 2018. Kutkina). They became part of both visual and discursive narrative of the state that seeks to define the nation by mixing diverse elements of both present and past to construct a potentially “unified future.” The following part of this chapter concludes the analysis of multiple forms of decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine by examining entrenchment of the homogeneous hegemonic formation of the state that articulates the Ukrainian nation-building process as a centuries-long struggle against the Russian aggressor. It also addresses multiple forms of articulation of the heterogeneous counter-hegemonic formation at the grassroots level. In particular, I examine visual and discursive debates on reasoning behind popularity of Bandera or members of the UPA, and address diverse modes of commemoration

180 of heroes of the Euromaidan revolution and war in Donbas by the ordinary citizens.

In his analysis of academic biography of Stepan Bandera, written by Rossolinki-Liebe, Yuri Radchenko (2015: 7) condemns rehabilitation of communist figures like Stalin that has been taking place in contemporary Russia and several regions of eastern Ukraine. He points at the rise of right-wing radicalism in states like Poland as one of the forms of the juxtaposition of two opposing tendencies of the post-Soviet space: glorification of the tyrannical Soviet leaders in Russia and praise of relentless nationalists of the former territories threatened (or controlled) by the Russian or Soviet empire. As such, radicalization is a pervasive phenomenon that goes extensively beyond the Ukrainian borders. In his description of the cult surrounding the Polish right-wing politician Roman Dmowski38, Rossolinki-Liebe asserts that the manner in which Dmowski was commemorated by the Polish diaspora during the Cold War is very similar to the Ukrainian diaspora’s veneration of Bandera.

Like the Bandera worshipers, Dmowski admirers have denied or diminished the anti-Semitic and extremist views expressed by him and the Endecja movement and have prized his patriotism and his devotion to the process of establishment a nation state. They have also propagated distorted nationalist versions of Polish history. They have denied the Polish involvement in the Holocaust and have presented the Poles as tragic but brave heroes and martyrs, and the victims of their neighbors, in particular Germans and Russians (Rossolinki-Liebe 2014: 527).

The cult of Ustaša of Ante Pavelić in independent Croatia could also be compared to that of Bandera and OUN. Within the context of war for independence and the rule of the first President of Croatia Franjo Tuđman, the cult became particularly popular, while the Serbs came to be addressed as “Četnici” and Croats as “Ustaše” by propaganda means of the opposing parties. Considerably similar phenomenon could be observed in the context of war in Donbas where the volunteers and soldiers of the Ukrainian army are often called “banderites” (or ‘followers of Bandera’) (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. June 7, 2014; Kharkiv. May11, 2016; Zaporizhzhya. July 25, 2017; Kryvyi Rih. October 7, 2017. Kutkina). However, comparison of glorification of the OUN and UPA to that of Croatian or Serbian formations is rather ambiguous. The Ustaše

38 Roman Dmowski (1864-1939) was a vocally anti-semitic Polish politician and the co-founder of the right- wing National Democracy political movement. He stood against control of the Polish territories by the German and Russian empires, and promoted articulation of Polish national identity along the ethnic and religious (Roman Catholic) lines. Encyclopedia Britannica. 2019. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Roman-Dmowski. Accessed on December 2018. 181 received their statehood directly from Hitler and were actively collaborating with the Nazis until the end of the war (Radchenko 2015: 12). By contrast, members of the UPA and OUN were both collaborators and victims of the Nazi regime. Arguably, it is for that reason that, aware of their atrocities towards the Poles, Jews and Ukrainians themselves, the population of Ukraine remains divided in its evaluation of the OUN and UPA’s role in the formation of the Ukrainian nation. In particular, the interviews reveal equalization of the OUN and UPA with the figure of Stepan Bandera (Interviews. Viktoria Shuba. Kyiv. April 2, 2015; Oleh Kryviy. Lviv. November 14, 2017; Olena Valenkova. October 9, 2018. Zaporizhzhya. Kutkina). Already during the official inauguration of President Petro Poroshenko (June 7, 2014), the following dialogue was captured on camera as part of my fieldwork trip to Kyiv. The video shows a spontaneous conversation of two men awaiting for the arrival of the President at the Sofiivska Square in Kyiv. The ordinary Ukrainians were involved in an intensive debate on the role Bandera played in the formation of the Ukrainian state, and the relevance of his person to the socio-political context of post-Euromaidan Ukraine. The video records several positions on Bandera, as well as vocalization of stereotypes-- offensive ways of calling someone Ukrainian or Russian, a ‘Banderovite’ and ‘Katsap’ (or ‘Moskal’), respectively. To some extent, the process of idealization of Bandera is a resurrected rather than an innovative discursive formation that becomes explicit and intensified during the regime-change. The video also records a popular cliche of ‘the supporters of Bandera being native Ukrainian-speakers of anti- Russian political stands (as in this video, also dressed in a traditional Ukrainian shirt, vyshyvanka), and the adherents of the pro-Soviet (or pro-Russian) views being the Russian- speaking population’. As such, the dialogue evolves as follows:

Man 1: We need a unitary Ukraine. Look, Katsapy are saying that we are Banderovites. And they are the Vlasovites39! And that is much worse! Man 2: Well, they are saying we do not have our own propaganda. We do! Bandera has cheated Hitler! For the sake of an idea! And what was the idea? To create a nation-state. Because he

39 Andrey Vlasov (Russian: Андрей Андреевич Власов) was a Russian Red Army general and collaborationist. He fought in the battle for Moscow and was captured to lift the siege of Leningrad, after which he defected to Nazi Germany and headed the so-called Vlasov Army or ROA. At the end of WWII he changed sides again, but was convicted in Moscow treason and hanged. As such ‘Vlasovec’ became an appalative used in Ukraine as to call someone a ‘Russian Nazi collaborator’. Source: https://www.britannica. com/biography/Andrey-Andreyevich-Vlasov. 182 knew that politicians are always cheating. And he used that! That is why he is the wisest politician in the world! To obtain trust of others and to create a nation-state! At that was happening during times when other nations were collapsing. He has created one! And the problem is that we do not have the right propaganda. We do not have means of promoting that!” Man 1: Yes, so that we could win the informational war! Man 2: And Hitler has cheated Stalin with his pact. And Bandera cheated Hitler himself! Man 1: Yes, and Vlasovites [Russians] sold themselves down to Gestapo. Man 2: Well, Vlasovites were pawns. One should not even compare Vlasovites to Bandera. Bandera cheated the owner of the world—Hitler! Man 1: No, no I am not comparing. I am just saying that they call us Banderovites, and they are the Vlasovites, and now they are also Putinovites! Man 2: So, yes, the problem is that we do not have the right propaganda. Bandera is the wisest politician! Woman 1: “Thank you! Keep telling this to everyone! Especially the youth!

Besides a referral to Bandera as the promoter of an idea of creation of the nation-state and a gifted political leader who “cheated Hitler himself,” the dialogue exposes Ukrainians’ need to ‘react’ to Russia’s appeal to Ukrainians as nationalists. An ordinary Ukrainian acknowledges idealized role of Bandera as a tool of modern political propaganda (e.g. ‘man 2’), and meanwhile, suggests the impossibility of standing up for Ukraine without using nationalist symbols. At the same time, not all the observers of the dialogue share loyalty to and admiration of Bandera, however. The video captures the evolution of the debate where some citizens express little to no interest in the discussion, while others vocalize their diverse political stands in particularly active terms:

Man 3: “Comrades (“Tovarishi”), would you please stop your propaganda! Your propaganda of Bandera! Today is the inauguration of our President Poroshenko! What does Bandera have to do with that? Today is a great holiday! You should not touch that history. And today is also the national commemoration day. And you are propagating your Bandera. Go to the graveyard and commemorate him there. No, better do that at the Church.’ Woman 2: Are you Stepan Bandera by any chance? [addressing ‘Man 3’]

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Man 3: No. Woman 2: Oh, too bad. We would have kneeled in front of you, if you were Bandera. Woman 4: I am also for Bandera. Not sure about the rest. The difference is that I am not talking about him publicly. Man 4: ‘Yes, we all will turn into Banderovites soon. Because we love our land. And Bandera loved our land as well. Now let Katsapchyky [Russians] be afraid of us! Yes, moskalyky! [synonym to ‘Katsjapchyky’]. Because they will shiver once they hear this word—‘Bandera!’ Man 3: What I suggest you, gentlemen [uses the ‘Russian’ word ‘gospoda’ (господа)] Oh, sorry, gentlemen! [uses the Ukrainian word for gentlemen—‘pany’ (‘пани’)]—go to the grocery store, get a bottle and have a drink for the health of President Poroshenko. That is the best thing that you can do today…We are all sick of this history by now. It is already about 55 years since Bandera was murdered and they keep remembering…calling and calling his name.”

The contestation of remembrance of Bandera as a hero of Ukraine illustrates what I argue to be the primary characteristic of post-Euromaidan de-Sovietization-- multivocality of the citizens’ political stands on both present and past of Ukraine. The following statement of one of the participants is crucial for understanding the binary nature of Bandera— a personal (and, for some, national) symbol of independence, it obtains multiple meanings depending on one’s regional and socio-political disposition. For Ukrainians recorded on the video, glorification of Bandera is a natural state of political positioning where a citizen who “loves” his or her state is implicitly turning into ‘Banderovite’-- because “Bandera loved [his] land as well”. Devotion to the idea of nationhood and sovereignty of Ukraine is articulated into a national idea of de- Sovietization or de-Russification. Here, the controversial figures of the Ukrainian past, I argue, obtain an explicitly positive connotation: they are redefined as ‘heroes’ who paved political ground for present and future generations of patriotic Ukrainians.

A particularly important question is asked by “Man 3” (video): “Today is the inauguration of our President Poroshenko...What does Bandera have to do with that?” This question, I argue, is one of the primary puzzles of post-Euromaidan decommunization. What does Bandera (or any controversial figure or symbol of the country’s past) have to do with establishment of the post-Soviet, democratic nation? In particular, why did Bandera’s political figure became so important especially during and after the Euromaidan revolution? If voicing

184 of multiple opinions is the phenomenon of post-Yanukovych, post-revolutionary thaw, what makes an aftermath of Euromaidan different from that of the Orange Revolution? Both the 2004 and 2014 Revolutions were followed by increased freedom of speech. However, an openly ‘nationalist’ rhetoric has penetrated both visual and discursive space of the state particularly after the Euromaidan (Fieldnotes. Kyiv, Lviv, Vinnytsia, Chernihiv. Poltava. June-August 2014. Kutkina). As of 2018, besides Ukrainian and international academic and media circles, no official, institutionalized opposition to glorification of the OUN and other nationalist figures existed in Ukraine. At the grassroots level, however, contestation of re-articulation of controversial figures of the past into ‘heroes’ of modern Ukraine, as I examine further, took manifold visual and discursive forms.

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8.5.2. The ‘other,’ the ordinary Ukrainian and the state

In an attempt to fix the revolutionary meanings of ‘democratic development,’ ‘freedom’ and ‘independence,’ the post-Euromaidan officials passed the 2015 decommunization laws that deployed to unify the country against the external aggressor-- the Russian Federation. Along with eradication of the communist insignia from the urban and cultural space of the country, the government of Ukraine used political art (e.g. Picture 149) as the primary means of articulation of the intensity and continuity of the Ukraine’s fight for independence. Particularly after the occupation of Crimea (February-March 2014) and escalation of the military activities in Donbas (summer 2014), visual and discursive articulation of the Russian Federation as both the historic and modern aggressor has intensified (Fieldnotes. Kyiv. May-July 2014/October-November 2016; Lviv. July 2, 2015; Vinnysia. April 13, 2015; Kryvyi Rih. March 2, 2016; Kharkiv. May 7, 2016. Kutkina).

Already in September 2014, Ukrainian artist and political activist, Yevgenia Belorusets, held an exhibition at the Pinchuk Art Center in Kyiv. In her work, she defined decommunization along the following lines: “Lenin has been romanticized during the historical period and [is being] completely demonized today” (Pictures 87 and 88). In February 2016, the poster that articulates explicit definition of Ukraine as ‘good’ and Russia as ‘evil’ was recorded at Maidan Nezalezhnosti square in Kyiv (Pictures 127 and 128). It was placed on the columns of the Independence Statue between the hand-made posters that commemorated Ukrainian soldiers killed in Donbas. The poster contained the portrayal of Jesus ‘dressed’ in the Ukrainian flag armwrestling Satan covered with the Russian flag. The image is made part of a large poster that articulates the following message: “The Republic of Maidan: Dignity Against Permissiveness” (“Республіка Майдан: Гідність Проти Свавілля”). At the left corner of the poster, a dove is carrying a Ukrainian flag as an ‘olive branch’ or a symbol of peace. The portrait of a famous Ukrainian writer and the proponent of Ukrainian independence, Lesya Ukrainka, is the central image of the poster. It is surrounded by pictures of the protestors killed during the Euromaidan Revolution (“Nebesna sotnya” or the “Heavenly Hundred” heroes). A collage of different images, the poster contains both historic and modern figures (e.g. Lesya Ukrainka and the participants of Euromaidan) and is an explicit portrayal of Ukraine fighting an absolute evil--

186 the Russian Federation. Though it is unclear whether this poster is a state-promoted or the ordinary citizens’ creation, placed at the central square of the country, it carries a powerful message of positioning of Ukraine (or ‘us’) against Russia (or the ‘other’).

In October 2017, I conducted a fieldwork trip to Kyiv to interview authors of the book Looking for Lenin (2017), Sebastien Gobert and Niels Ackermann, and to participate in the public discussion of their study of the ‘Leninfall.’ The discussion involved the primary drafter of the 2015 decommunization laws, Volodymyr Viatrovych, as well as prominent political figures and artists of Ukraine-- Yevgenia Belorusets, Lada Nakonechna and Vlada Ralko. As a brief observational note, Volodymyr Viatrovych was the only figure of the discussion who expressed vigorous, openly anti-Soviet and anti-Russian stand. The artists, journalists and the audience of the debate articulated less uniform and more politically ‘neutral’ positions: the process of explicit othering of Russia (and the Soviet Union) was either judged or taken cautiously. One of the primary points raised in the discussion addressed the “impossibility of erasing the Soviet cultural and political legacy from the Ukrainian present and past” (Ralko 2017). Another acute question, “whom to replace Lenin with?” (Gobert 2017), was brought up. The ordinary Ukrainians (the audience), as well as the artists, have also expressed the necessity of “finding a symbol that would replace Lenin at the national scale-- the one that would unify the ‘pro-European’ and ‘pro-Russian’ citizens of Ukraine” (Fieldnotes. Public discussion. October 11, 2017. Kyiv. Kutkina).

This research records questioning of decommunization as being primarily a grassroots phenomenon, however. At the state-level, eradication of the Soviet political and cultural legacy is an attainable occurrence. Two years after passing the decommunization laws, the phenomenon became even more pronounced both visually and discursively. Of all exhibitions documented during more than 20 fieldwork trips to Ukraine, a state-installed poster exhibition of October 2017, “100 Years of Fighting for Independence” (Pictures 130-141), was one of the most monumental public installations. The exhibition was composed of meters-tall images of the Ukrainian soldiers of the Anti-Terrorist Operation in Donbas that were placed hand-in-hand with poster-stands on history and images of the UPA, Bandera and other political activists of the 20th century Ukraine. Containing detailed texts and archival images of the OUN, UPA and specific figures of these organizations, the exhibition carried both educational and ideological

187 objectives. It introduced the viewer to the ‘persistence’ of the Ukraine’s fight for cultural and political sovereignty. Not only its title, “100 Years of Fighting for Independence,” but also its images articulated this point clearly. The ‘Picture 132,’ for instance, captured the stand-poster that uses color as means for illustrating continuity of the fight: the soldiers of early-mid 20th century Ukraine form one line with fighters of modern Ukrainian army (the black-and-white image is turning into a colored one implying interconnectedness of past and present). Another narrative is constructed via the posters on the origins of the “new army” of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (Pictures 135-138): in this instance, the time-span of the Ukrainians’ struggle for freedom is expanded further back to the times of the Kievan Rus (882 AD). As such, the process of placement of posters of Kievan Rus next to those of the UPA or OUN, that are then followed by photographs of soldiers at war in Donbas, constructs both a physical and discursive line where the struggle for the country’s independence is not only decades, but centuries old and is a politically and culturally inherited phenomenon.

What could be seen as a general ‘message’ of the exhibition, formation of “The New Army” (Pictures 133, 137 and 138), is a national objective of post-Euromaidan Ukraine-- the primary goal that was set by President Poroshenko during his Independence Day speech on August 24, 2018. The images of the “New Army” present a visual narrative of unity of ancient and recent past of Ukraine as both a discursive and practical instance: the symbols of Kievan Rus’ such as the iron hand with the sword, for example, became the symbol of the tank division of the Ukrainian army in Donbas (Picture 135). Acknowledging modern elements of the socio- political transformations within the states such as increased inclusion of women in military activities (Picture 140), the exhibition also embraced a broader message of “Freedom [being] Our Religion” (Picture 141). If one took a picture of the Maidan square in October 2017, the viewer would capture all visual elements of the state-promoted narrative: the past (nationalist figures of the OUN or UPA) and the present (images of Ukrainian soldiers involved in military activities in Donbas) being articulated into a national hegemonic formation of the Ukraine’s decades-long fight for independence; it is the process of cultural and political liberation of Ukraine from the imperial ‘other.’

Finally, the data that were collected during my final fieldwork trip (September-October 2018) illustrates further the re-articulation of the Ukrainians’ fight for independence, and in

188 particular, struggle against the Soviet (or Russian) aggressor, as not only national, but also international phenomenon. The Pictures 142-146 are images of the poster-exhibition entitled “For your and our freedom 1968-2018” (“За вашу і нашу свободу 1968-2018”) (September 19, 2018, Kyiv). This exhibition narrates another political move of the state that draws a connection between present and past and, this time, also promotes the relevance of the Ukrainian resistance to Russian (or Soviet) dominance on an international scale. The poster-stands present a visual row of archival images of the European states that experienced Soviet or Russian (Picture 143) dominion. Each of these posters provided a narrative on specific persons who opposed the Soviet or Russian state, and suffered physical and/or political repression. The countries represented in the exhibition range from Ukraine (Picture 144) to Yugoslavia (Picture 146), and Russia itself (Picture 145: political prisoners of the Soviet Russia, 1968). Simultaneously with “For your and our freedom 1968-2018” exhibition, another installation-- “For your and our freedom 1968-2018”, was recorded at the Maidan Nezalezhnosti square (October 17, 2018, Pictures 147-149). The latter contained photographs of different moments of the Euromaidan revolution posted on the metal frameworks that were shaped as the silhouettes of the protestors. Both personal and ‘anonymous’ (e.g. persons presented by the pictures or the silhouettes of the protestors, respectively), the exhibition offered space for commemoration of the past and re-articulation of the present. The past was made into a continuous process of the socio-political and cultural struggle. It was preserved and glorified to show acknowledgement of those who sacrificed their lives for the country and, potentially, to justify the ongoing war in Donbas as an act of continuing the tradition: that of a centuries-old patriotism and national bravery perfected via resistance to Russian dominance.

A careful examination of the posters, however, revealed the grassroots demand for political ‘dialogue’ between the ordinary citizens and the state. Many of the posters of the “Maidan: Landscape of Memory” exhibition, for instance, contained the grassroots ‘corrections’ of the state-promoted narrative: the title of one of the posters, “Artifacts of the Revolution of Dignity Museum,” included the word ‘dignity’ (“гідності”) which was supplemented with paint by placing three letters in front of the word so as to turn it into ‘profit’ (“вигідності”) (Picture 151). Despite the graffiti being an anonymous statement, which means that no interview with the author was possible to affirm the original intention of the graffiti, I would argue in favor of this statement being critical of the aftermath of the Euromaidan revolution. The creative re-

189 articulation of the word ‘dignity’ into ‘profit’ illustrates awareness of Ukrainians of the continuation of corruption and the potential failure of the post-2013 government to deliver political and cultural promises made during the revolution.

Another example of challenging state-articulated narratives with grassroots political art was the exhibition project in Kyiv called “The reality of modern war” (Pictures 94-100). The collection of posters, photographs and personal objects of the Ukrainian soldiers in Donbas was opened in July 2016 and presented at the primary entrance hall of the Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. The exposition was held simultaneously with a permanent museum collection of “World War II”. During my visit to the museum, I took over 100 pictures of both the “The reality of modern war” and the “World War II” exhibitions. The analysis of the pictures reveals striking similarities of images of these two displays. Juxtaposed to the images of the decades-old “World War II” exhibition, the pictures of “The reality of modern war” in Donbas capture the soldiers and objects of war in virtually ‘identical’ positions and backgrounds. The examples of such images are Pictures 94-100. Whether intentionally or not, the state of post- Euromaidan Ukraine constructs a powerful hegemony of ‘reading’ the country’s present through the prism of its past. What could be seen as a ‘response’ of the ordinary citizens to such socio- political practice of the government are the creative, yet equally political installations. The Pictures 103-106 are the images of the third exhibition that took place at the Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War in June 2016, hand-in-hand with the previously discussed installations. It illustrates an alternative, artistic reading of war in Donbas, where both artists and ordinary citizens use daily objects of war to create ‘peaceful’ articles of public or home decor. The bullets, guns and other pieces of ammunition are transformed into chairs, plate- holders or picture frames. The primary objective of such grassroots creative installations “[was] to bring the military conflict of Donbas closer to the rest of Ukraine and, at the same time, to offer extensive space for political discussion and re-articulation of war as a new rather than traditional, old phenomenon,” stated one of the employees of the museum (Interview. A. Samoilova. Kyiv. June 19, 2016. Kutkina). Artistic utilization of objects of war, as well as those of the Euromaidan revolution, into the ordinary, daily space of Ukrainians was observed in diverse public settings and different regions of the country (Fieldnotes. Ukraine. June 2014-October 2018. Kutkina). Pictures 107 and 108, for instance, capture the installation of shields, bullets, helmets and flags of the

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Euromaidan revolution into the physical space of “Porter Pub” in Kyiv (July 2016). A helmet pierced by a bullet (possibly taken from a body of a protestor shot by a sniper in February of 2014) is placed on the wall of the pub right next to the flag of the Right Sector (the country’s ‘nationalist’ organization). Diverse (and arguably controversial) in their original meanings, these and similar objects were seen in different cities (Fieldnotes. Lviv. February 5, 2017; Kyiv. July 15, 2016; Vinnytsia. February 15, 2017; Chernihiv. October 23, 2018; Dnipro. June 3, 2016; Kharkiv. 15 July, 2017; Tyshky. June 6, 2017; Zaporizhzhya. 27 July, 2017. Kutkina). As artistic political installations of the grassroots level, they constructed what I argue to be the heterogeneous hegemonic formation, where the Euromaidan revolution and its aftermath, including war in Donbas, were given manifold, both grievous and optimistic, connotations. Irrespective of the geographic location of the city (or village), the state-promoted replacement of the Soviet statues with monuments on war in Donbas (e.g. Pictures 91-93), or controversial figures like Bandera (Picture 188) took place simultaneously with contextually and stylistically diverse grassroots articulation of war, the Euromaidan revolution, history, present or future. On both its regional and national scale, therefore, ‘decolonization’ of 2014-2018 Ukraine has turned from vandalized (or sanctioned) toppling of the communist statues and passing of the official decommunization laws to a visually (and contextually) diverse search for new political and cultural meanings. Either spontaneously or intentionally articulated, it implied both physical and discursive resurrection of controversial figures of the past and creative ‘merging’ of these symbols with objects (and symbols) of contemporary, daily domain.

One of the primary, overall intentions of this chapter has been to examine the ‘final’ stage of decommunization, and to address how both visual and discursive installations of the state were constructed around meanings of othering, and the fight ‘against’ the Soviet past and Russian present. It included the state promoting patriotism by means of extracting figures from the Ukrainian past that are known for their explicitly negative stands against any form of foreign patronage and, in particular, that of the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union. This research cannot claim to present volumes of grassroots criticism of the state-sponsored exhibitions that glorified figures of Bandera or UPA, or national public protests against the toppling of the communist statues. At the same time, however, open criticism of the romanticization of war, as well as verbal objection to re-articulation of Bandera into a ‘hero’ of modern Ukraine was observed. At the grassroots level, patriotism-raising, for instance, involved commemoration of

191 the participants of the Euromaidan revolution and carried no signs of ‘resurrection’ of the controversial figures of the country’s past. The poster-stands of Lviv (western Ukraine, Picture 152), Vinnytsia (central Ukraine, Pictures 153 and 154), or Kharkiv (eastern Ukraine, Pictures 155 and 156), for instance, were identical in their visual and discursive articulation: they implied the formation of a common, national narrative of post-2013 Ukraine that articulated figures of the Ukrainian present as the key elements of new, democratic transitioning.

At the same time, narrated by means of the slogans of the Ukrainian ‘nationalist’ past-- ‘Heroes do not die’ (Picture 157), the heroes of the grassroots Ukraine, I argue, were diverse. They did not follow the state-suggested model of replacement of one cult figure (e.g. Lenin) by another (e.g. Bandera). In other words, the ordinary citizens’ positions on modes of socio- political and cultural transformations of post-Euromaidan Ukraine were manifold. They varied from radical toppling (or preservation) of the communist statues (Pictures 75 and 82, respectively) to the unifying graffiti “West and East are together” or “Return Your Crimea” that were followed by the swastika sign (Pictures 125A and 126A, respectively). They also included commemorative posters of heroes of war in Donbas or the Euromaidan revolution (Pictures 65 and 156, respectively). Multivocal in its meanings, the grassroots hegemonic formation ‘called’ for unification of Ukraine around the idea of diversity. The hegemonic formation of the state, on the other hand, I argue, offered the model of national unity that still contained elements of the ‘one-sided’ reading of the country’s past-- figures like Stepan Bandera or members of the UPA, who fall short in being national symbols of a democratic state.

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8.6. Conclusions

As the cardinal symbol of the country’s communist epoch, Lenin, was toppled at Bessarabka square in Kyiv in December 2013, the ‘central’ historic figure of western parts of Ukraine, Bandera, rose at the country’s political heart— Kyiv, as well as in other regions of the country. From early days of the Euromaidan revolution and onwards, Bandera marked the beginning of explicit transformation of the Ukrainian political domain where, arguably, for the first time since 1991, there occurred explicit mastering of the country’s discursive and physical space by western Ukrainian symbols. This chapter examined what I define as the ‘final’ stage of post-Euromaidan decommunization-- implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws that took diverse physical and discursive forms. In particular, I looked at how the placing of images of Bandera, or members of the OUN and UPA next to photographs (or books) of ordinary Ukrainians constructed the political operation that homogenized the multivocal political texture of post- 2013 Ukraine. This activity could be seen as an attempt of the state to both respond to the demands of some citizens and to constitute a new homogeneous hegemonic formation. The replacement of Lenin ‘by’ Bandera is the topographic and ideological endeavour that attempts to substitute old ‘communist’ or ‘pro-Russian’ regime with new ‘pro-Western’ or democratic political formation. Particularly in the context of ongoing hybrid war in Donbas, as well as occupation of Crimea, both waged by the Russian Federation, however, decommunization assembled a broader meaning of liberation of the nation from the ‘imperial’ regime. While neither the Ukrainian nor international community holds doubts on Russia’s presence and the stirring of an armed conflict in Donbas, detection of the ‘other’ renders difficult the further into history one goes. The effect of the laws that prohibit communist propaganda and all of its symbols resulted in the removal of all Lenin statues, as well as renaming of thousands of streets and public places across Ukraine. The quick adoption of the laws sparked open criticism of both the Ukrainian and international academic circles that explained general lack of enthusiasm and support of decommunization at the grassroots level by primarily economic reasons (Kozyrska 2016). As was shown in this chapter, physical demolition of remnants of the Soviet past assumed the

193 creation of a community where citizens were expected to be unified around the destruction of the ‘other.’ The analysis of photo, video and interview data of the grassroots level, however, delineates decommunization as a complex process of continuous meaning-making: it implies struggle or contestation of diverse political positions, and at the same time, does not necessarily mean dominance of one position over the other. This chapter addressed how the theoretical framework of ‘hegemony’ could be used for analysis of the struggle over the country’s past, present or future, where political or cultural multivocality is indicative of a dialogue rather than the discursive or physical domination of one political (or social) unit over the other.

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9. Conclusion

In his discussion of the Euromaidan revolution and its aftermath, the founder of the Ukrainian-German Civil Society Forum “Kiev Dialogue,” Tobias Munchmeyer (2015: 25) raises the fundamental question of “how does democracy look like?” At first glance, both as the public space of the protest and the political action that brought corrupt government of President Viktor Yanukovych to an end, Maidan is a classic example of a democratic practice. It was both physical and discursive expression of self-organization and alliance of the people. It was the domain of diversity of socio-political and cultural positions and, at the same time, a symbol of unity around the universal values of ‘peace,’ ‘equality’ and ‘freedom.’ Within the historic spectrum, the Euromaidan revolution was the fourth national attempt to articulate the decades-long objective of sovereignty and detachment from the legacy of the Soviet Union. In 1990, the central square of Kyiv, ‘Maidan’, became the space of a national student strike. At first, primarily students from Western Ukraine, and later all regions of the country, the participants arrived to October Square (today’s Maidan) to object the political influence of the Soviet Union on Ukraine and, in particular, the military draft of Ukrainian students into the Soviet army (Kopenkina 2014). The hunger strike of the students lasted until the resignation of the prime minister and signing of the Ukrainian Parliament agreement to meet the protesters’ demands. Ten years later, renamed after the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Maidan Nezalezhnosti (or Independence square) became the centerpiece of a massive protest against corrupt government of that time President, Leonid Kuchma. “The Ukraine without Kuchma40” campaign (2000-2001) resulted in the presidential election of Viktor Yanukovych as means of avoiding criminal responsibility of Kuchma administration’s murdering of the journalist Georgiy Gongadze41 (2000) and numerous arrests of the protestors. In 2004, the

40 “Ukraine without Kuchma” was a mass protest that took place in Ukraine in 2000-2001. The primary demand of the protestors was the resignation of that time President, Leonid Kuchma. It was the first political campaign of post-Soviet Ukraine where 24 political parties and civil society organizations took place. The protests were triggered by the release of an audio that proved involvement of Kuchma’s government into murdering of the journalist Georgiy Gongadze. Unlike the Orange Revolution, Ukraine without Kuchma was implemented by the government enforcement units, and followed by wide-scale arrests of the opposition. Source: https://inrespublica.org.ua/en/ ostanni-novyny/ukrayina-bez-kuchmi.html. 41 Georgiy Gongadze was a Ukrainian opposition journalist who was murdered in September of 2000 after he expressed open criticism of the then President Leonid Kuchma. His death was followed by the “caset scandal” which released involvement of Kuchma’s administration into the murder of Gongadze. The circumstances of 195

Orange Revolution was the first successful overthrow of President Viktor Yanukovych: in a series of protests that took place at the Maidan Nezalezhnosti square in Kyiv and across the country, the citizens of Ukraine objected to the results of the 2004 presidential elections (the lead of Viktor Yanukovych) and rose up against the universal corruption of the state. Since then, the Euromaidan revolution has been the most ambitious embodiment of Ukraine’s post-Soviet transition. Unlike all previous protests of post-1990 and, in particular, the Orange Revolution, “at which the name of the president elect “Yush-shen-ko” was chanted…[and yet where] values [were] defined with a geographic adjective” (Belorusets 2014: 25), the Euromaidan became a symbol of a democratic or even an anarchist utopia. It was a clear statement of consolidation of the country where the citizens were unified in their striving for human rights, independence and freedom from corruption. At the same time, it was the first political transition where a democratic protest of a national scale, as well as its aftermath, included colossal loss of life. An outcome of 4.5 years of fieldwork in different regions of Ukraine, this research has been a study of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine as a socio-political and cultural space where multiple elements of nationalist discourse are blended with diverse articulation of democratic values. Such stands range from the citizens’ desire “to have a kindergarten next to their homes“ (“Strike Poster project”) to those of changing the judicial system of the country or having a democratically-elected president. Articulated at the grassroots level, these ‘values’ are diverse in their nature and yet culminate into a single process of massive democratic transition-- that of the nationwide decommunization. This research examined how within such a process, old symbols and/or judicial structures such as the statues, posters or laws are being replaced by new physical (e.g. architectural) and narrative formations. In particular, I looked at how replacement of old hegemonic structures occurred through multiple forms of contestation and (re)articulation of meanings of the country’s present and past at both the grassroots and governmental level. This research aligned with the claim of Ukrainian and international scholars who argue that, in one form or another, the process of decommunization became the primary political and cultural transformation of post-Euromaidan Ukraine (Hartmond 2016; Motyl 2015; Shevel 2015; Viatrovych 2015). At the same time, I suggested examining physical and ideological de- murder of Gongadze became a national scandal and sparkled the protests against Kuchma’s government, that are known as “Ukraine without Kuchma”. Source: https://inlviv.in.ua/ukraine/georgi j-gongadze-voyin -i-zhurnalist - shho- zagynuv-za-svobodu-slova-v-ukrayini. 196

Sovietization of post-2013 Ukraine as a multilayered process of struggle over meanings. I addressed decommunization as a phenomenon that is not only ‘composed’ of diverse meanings, but also originates from and is expressed in multiple forms of political activism. Such activism is not restricted to popular perception of detachment from the oppressive present or past accompanied by the toppling of communist statues or only the change of a political regime (Himka 2015; Marples 2016; Nuzov 2016). As was examined in this study, the process of decommunization is both fragmented and unified in its multivocality. It is expressed in the physical space of posters, graffiti and multiple forms of political art where “culture [moves] away from serving the interests of the acting power and towards [addressing] the needs of all people” (Venediktova 2014: 82). This research used the theoretical framework of hegemony by Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe (1985) and related works by scholars inspired by their ideas of hegemonic orders (Cox 2019; Modelski 1999; Thompson 2015) to address hegemony as being “more than dominance”. It examined (post)Euromaidan decommunization as a social phenomenon which was mediated through discourse, where political meanings were articulated, contested and, as a whole, were never permanently fixed. A broader purpose of ‘hegemonic’ reading of decommunization was to identify particular ways in which discourses such as ‘de-Sovietization’ or ‘Europeanization’ are “never complete” (Cox 2019; Laclau 1985; Thompson 2015). At the same time, I examined how the discursive or physical opposition to such discourses (e.g. demolition or preservation of the Soviet monuments, or conduction of manifold political poster exhibitions) was counter-hegemonic: how it constituted particular order and relation of meanings that were of a contesting nature. The ‘struggle’, however, is not indicative of cultural or socio-political division of the population. It exposes simultaneous existence of both identical and emulate positions that, I argue, are at the core to the democratic transition of the post- communist state. The broader objective of this work was not to define particular political groups that exist within a society, or to undermine cultural formations that support or object decommunization. My goal was to look at multiple mechanisms of a selection of the discursive and physical elements that were included (or erased) from the physical space of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine (2013-2018). Specifically, I identified primary political and cultural means of the citizens’ and ruling elites’ consolidation of a politically and culturally diverse state. By using Ukraine as a

197 case-study, this research illustrated how the process of disengagement with the ‘other’ could be defined by two primary categories: the physical and the discursive. The former includes both the vandalism and sanctioned eradication of remnants of the oppressive communist regime— the monuments of the Soviet leaders, for example, as a form of expression of the protest against both former and present political regimes, as well as drawing of an ideological distinction between past and present. Within such a process, diverse forms of political art, such as posters, graffiti or videos (e.g. documentaries), are used for articulation of the political operation that contributes to establishment of multiple hegemonic formations. The latter-- the discursive (or ideological) mechanism of decommunization has been shown to take place through articulation of both opposing and supporting positions on the country’s socio-political, cultural and economic course. This research argues that the evolution of post-Euromaidan de-Sovietization should be examined beyond the framework of passing and implementation of the 2015 decommunization laws. As I illustrated in this work, the process of all-national decommunization was a process with several stages. It commenced as artistic expression of the grassroots, ordinary citizens’ positions on ‘Europeanization’ of Ukraine. The grassroots narratives were articulated by means of images of the political posters, graffiti and other forms of political art (e.g. puppets of the communist or modern Ukrainian leaders). Printed, painted or installed in different cities and villages, political art of the Euromaidan revolution articulated the ordinary citizens’ desire to detach from the President Yanukovych’s regime, and, as such, the Russian political and cultural patronage. At the same time, the grassroots ‘vision’ of democratization of Ukraine consisted of a broad array of political meanings that ranged from personal demands of “being heard” (e.g. hand-made poster “I am a drop in the ocean”, Picture 20), to national requests for termination of Russian military aggression (e.g. Pictures 9-10) or promotion of human rights (e.g. Picture 13). Both during and after the Euromaidan revolution, I argue, political and cultural diversity of the country’s citizens was being articulated into a powerful heterogeneous hegemonic formation. After termination of the revolution in Kyiv (June 2014), however, the process of decommunization took an official or governmental form of homogenization of meanings. Starting in the summer 2014, decommunization evolved towards a simple and a more complex form: in one respect, it narrowed post-Euromaidan democratization to passing of the decommunization laws that legitimized national demolition of physical and ideological

198 elements of the Soviet heritage. After the annexation of Crimea by the Russian Federation (March 2014) and Russian military involvement in war in Donbas (spring 2014-onwards), ‘othering’ of Russia as means for unification of Ukraine against the external aggressor was justified as a necessary political move by the Ukranian state (Allison 2014; Kulyk 2016; Ryabchuk 2014; Shevel 2015; Shveda 2016; Wilson 2015). In practical terms, the state- institutionalized decommunization acquired the form of canonization of controversial figures of the past such as Stepan Bandera, Semen Petliura or members of the UPA. Replacing the discursive and physical symbols of the communist regime (e.g. statues of Lenin), these controversial figures of Ukrainian history have undergone what I argue to be a discursive or narrative re-articulation: defined as ‘national heroes’ of the 20th century Ukraine, they obtained new meanings of ‘contributors’ to the modern fight for Ukraine’s independence. Staging of regional and national poster exhibitions, as well as publishing of books that promote visual and discursive collision, or equalization of controversial historical figures with soldiers of war in Donbas were the primary mechanisms of the state-promoted decommunization. Such process constructed a powerful hegemonic formation that implied political and cultural symbols of the primarily western regions of Ukraine and, therefore, tended to be exclusive of both pro-Russian and pro-European (anti-nationalist) parts of the country’s population. At the same time, at the grassroots level, articulation of manifold, multivocal positions on decommunization took place. Particularly after the Euromaidan revolution, the ordinary citizens in different regions of Ukraine used artistic means to preserve the communist heritage (e.g. dressing monuments of Lenin in nationally embroidered shirts or hiding statues in the backyards of their houses), and expressed both supportive and opposing attitudes towards necessity and aptitude of decommunization reforms. This research discerned that both the toppling and artistic preservation of the communist symbols were nation-wide activities; they promoted construction of the imagined communities where, without having direct interaction with each other, the citizens of Ukraine were able to enter (or abstain from) the socio-political and cultural space of support (or objection) to decommunization. The physical elements of the city-context, such as bookstores, were also important narrative components that facilitated construction of such imagined communities. Articulation and contestation of meanings evolved into an artistic or cultural dialogue (Bakhtin 1981), where the homogeneous hegemonic

199 formation of the state was formed simultaneously with the heterogeneous counter-hegemonic articulation of the grassroots level. Due to the chaotic nature of the Euromaidan revolution, as well as the complexity of its aftermath (e.g. military activities in Donbas or migration of the internally displaced population), the ‘snowballing’ as a method of data collection was particularly effective. It provided an opportunity for examining the events and citizens’ reaction to them as they happened. Following this technique, this research consisted of no pre-selection of the interviewees or the city of the further conducting of the fieldwork. Each person (or an object) would serve as a live ‘referral’ to the next object of the study. As such, the fieldwork was conducted based on the ‘urgency’ of the events (e.g. spontaneous protests taking place in different cities of Ukraine during the Euromaidan revolution or the latest political poster exhibitions). Such strategy allowed efficient recording of both sudden and long-term transformations that took place in different regions of the country. In examining the collected material, I drew an analytical relationship between photographs, interview narratives and physical objects of the city space. This method proved particularly effective for a study where images, texts, or objects (e.g. statues) were brought together to provide comprehensive understanding of the different types of data: it helped produce a complete sequence of both the discursive and physical layers of the findings. In its broader framework, this research does not claim to be an encyclopedic study of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine. Rather, it is an outcome of a specific fieldwork of a researcher who arrived in the field-- the physical space of the Euromaidan in Kyiv in December 2013-- as to test the ‘black-and-white’ media-promoted hypothesis: the “Euromaidan being a gathering of fascists and nationalists” (1st Channel, Russia, December 2013-onwards) or it being the socio- political space that is “representative of all regions and citizens of Ukraine” (5th Channel, Ukraine, December 2013-onwards). Neither during the first days of my stay in the field, nor after completion of the fieldwork, and studying the existing academic and media sources would I argue for either of these polarized claims to be true. What emerged as one of the primary conclusions of this study is the importance of examining decommunization as both micro and macro politics. The demolition (or preservation) of the communist symbols, for instance, is an act of personal statement. Yet, articulated by the many in what this research has shown to be a creative way, it becomes a statement of the many. The toppling of the statue of Lenin in Kyiv in December 2013, or massive demolition of communist symbols in different regions of

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Ukraine, is but a selective representation of public opinion of the post-Soviet decommunization. To be complete, the analysis of post-2013 decommunization requires examination of both the sporadic (e.g. ‘nationalist’) and systemized (e.g. state-implemented) modes of eradication of the communist past. At both the regional and national level, decommunization of post-2013 Ukraine illustrated the possibility of combining controversial (e.g. nationalist) elements of the past with nationally honored figures of the present (e.g. heroes of Maidan or war in Donbas) into a dominant horizon of social orientation or action. Within such a process, the nationalist symbols were contested and, at the same time, new meanings of both regional and national scale were articulated. Like during other world-scale political transformations (e.g. the Russian Revolution of 1917, WWII, or the collapse of the Soviet Union), artistic intervention into political space of the state in transition has been an effective mode of citizens-state interaction; it involved diverse forms of the citizens-state encounter that vary from the top-down articulation of the homogeneous state-promoted narratives to the openly contested meanings of the grassroots level. Ultimately, the process of state and ordinary citizens’ interaction could be defined as that of achieving social consensus, where ‘dialogism’ (Bakhtin 1981), I argue, is the primary component of hegemonic meaning-making. The bridging of the theory of hegemony (Cox 2019; Gills 1994; Laclau 1985), the theory of heteroglossia (and monologism) (Bakhtin 1981) and that of the ‘imagined communities’ (Anderson 1983) is an effective theoretical method of analysis of a state in transition. As every worldview conditions another and the existence of hegemonic formation presupposes the existence of that of a counter-hegemonic nature, the only means of construction of a peaceful, democratic development are those of conducting a dialogue. The possibility of a successful completion of such a task, however, can be increased by deepening our knowledge of the socio- political and cultural stands of the ordinary citizens. That being said, this research argued in favor of taking a step further and narrowing the point of reference of the imagined communities from the “nation” (Anderson 1983) to that of a ‘region’: as I intended to show, examination of the ordinary citizens’ or communities’ stands on what is presumed to be a relatively simple or ‘black-and-while’ socio-political phenomenon, such as decommunization, carries potential of unraveling (or creating) a ‘new’ formula of construction of national identity—one that acknowledges ‘having no common voice’ as being the common voice.

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Articulated as part of the narrative of the heroic combat of Ukraine against the historic and modern patronage of Russia, the controversial figures of Bandera or members of the UPA are no longer ‘fighting’ the communist regime. Extracted from the past, they are made part of the country’s visual and discursive present. As symbols of ‘nationalism,’ they acquire new democratic meanings by being either voluntary or enforced elements of modern discursive articulations. In-depth analysis of such a process, I argue, may require further expansion of the existing theoretical frameworks to address the local nature of imagined communities-- to study political diversity as a mosaic of particular, ‘personal’ voices. While the effectiveness of decommunization of the post-Soviet space such as that of Ukraine has been examined by different scholars (Hartmond 2016; Shevel 2015; Viatrovych 2015; Yekelchyk 2015), full understanding of this phenomenon at both the external (physical) and internal (mentality) level is what this research asserts to be of most important challenge. This, I argue, is a complex enterprise that implies an extensive timeframe and further acknowledgement of the necessity of legitimization of multivocality within the public domain. What do the ‘post-Soviet’ citizens want to do with vestiges of their past? What does uncertainty of physical destiny of the monuments, as well as controversial attitudes towards ideological concepts such as ‘communism’ or ‘democracy’ tell us about efficiency of decommunization as such? Finally, does ‘decommunization’ necessarily lead to ‘democratization’ and if so, what is the economic, political or cultural scale for the estimation of its ‘completion’? The acquiring of an explicit answer to all of these questions within the socio-political context of Ukraine is possible only over time. As a political phenomenon of a national scale, decommunization requires cultural and political adaptation to multivocality of the country’s population. The demolition of communist statues, renaming of the streets, or popularization of controversial figures of the past in political poster exhibitions or books illustrate how particular names (or places) hold distinctive value for politicians and ordinary citizens. At the same time, the empty plinths of the Soviet monuments may enable articulation of new sets of meanings that could resonate with the broader population. Following Laclau, Palonen (2018: 111) argues, “we might say that, in the moment of naming, the inherent multiplicity of the “people” becomes one-- if only temporarily.” Calling the political transformations of (post)Euromaidan Ukraine ‘decommunization’ worked the opposite way: ‘framing’ of the assumed political course as ‘anti- Soviet’ (or ‘anti-communist’) exposed the narratives of the many. Today, effectiveness and

202 broader socio-political and cultural outcomes of decommunization remain a timely subject for further research. Meanwhile, the over 90-year-old ‘hypothesis’ of the Soviet poet, Vladimir Mayakovsky, “Lenin lived, Lenin lives and Lenin will live forever” (“Komsomolskaya,” 1924) is yet to be tested

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APPENDIX

Pictures

Picture 1: Our flag, victorious flag. 1945. Viktor Koretsky. USSR. Museum of the Working Class. Prague. Source: Aulich and Sylvestrova.

A.1 Pictureb 2:bPestbbbbbb ridgeway in western Europe! Maximum vigilanceb andbb battle readiness b protects b our GDR. 1952. Thomas Hill. Source: Aulich and Sylvestrova.b

Pictureb 3:bStalin’sb Monument,bb Prague. Museum bbb of the Workingb Classbbbb Movement. 1959. Source: Otakar Švec.bb

A.2 Picture 4: NSK, The Death of Ideology: Laibach, 1982, Yugoslavia. 1982. Moravian Gallery. Source:b Brno.b

A.3 Pictureb 5.bb “Unified Country” b (“ȹɨɬɱɤ b ɮɴɤʊɱɤ/ɉɨɬɱɤʃb ɵɶɴɤɱɤ”): bb A poster placed on the walls of the Central Department Store (‘printed’ on the yellow-blue flag of Ukraine).bb “Zaporizhzhyabb Kyiv” “ɋɤɳɲɴʉɪɪʃb Ɏɬʊɦ”: bbb A graffito painted bbb by the participant(s) b of the Euromaidan revolution as to symbolize unity of Ukraine.bb From left to right: flag of Ukraine, flag of the EU, flag of the far-right Ukrainian nationalist party and movement, the Right Sector. Khreshchatyk Street. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.4

Pictureb 6.bb “I love b Ukraine” b (“ɣ b ɯʂɥɯʂ b ɗɮɴɤʊɱɷ”)bb A graffito b painted bb in Ukrainian b by thebbbbbbbbbbb protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 7.bbbbb “Ukraine is not Russia!” (“ɗɮɴɤʊɱɤ bb ɱɩ ɔɲɵɵʉʃ”) bbbbb A graffito painted in Ukrainianbb by the b protestor(s) bbb of the Euromaidan b revolution. b Maidan b Nezalezhnosti b square. b Kyiv, b May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.5 Pictureb 8.bbbb “We are the brotherhood bb with Russians b blood-wise, bbbbbbb but are never in terms of brotherly-slavery,bbb Sevastopolian” (ɐɿ ɵb ɴɷɵɵɮɬɰɬ bbb ɳɲ ɮɴɲɦɬ-- ɥɴɤɶɵɶɦɲ, ɱɲ ɱɬɮɲɧɨɤ-- ɳɲ ɥɴɤɶɵɶɦɷ ɴɤɥɵɶɦɤ (ɕɩɦɤɵɶɲɳɲɯɩɺ).bb A poster b painted bb in Russian b by b the b protestor(s) bb of the b Euromaidan revolution. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 9. “Go home!” A poster made by the protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution as to objectbb Russian presence bbbb in Ukraine. Maidan Nezalezhnosti b square. Kyiv, bbbb May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.6 Pictureb 10.bbbb “No to War!” (“ɑɩɶ b ɦɲɭɱɩ!”). bb A graffito b made bbb by the protestor(s) bbb of the Euromaidanbbbbbbbbbb revolution as to object Russian presence in Donbas. Maidan Nezalezhnosti bb square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 11.bbbb “No to War!” (“ɑɩɶ b ɦɲɭɱɩ!”) bbb A poster made bbb by the protestors bbb of the Euromaidanbbbbbbbbbbb revolution as to object war in Donbas (Eastern Ukraine). Maidan Nezalezhnosti b square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.7 Picture 12. “Brothers?” A poster painted by the protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution as objectbbbbbbbbbbbb occupation of Crimea by the Russian Federation (April 2014). Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 13:bbb “Human Rights” (“ɓɴɤɦɤ b ɯʂɨɬɱɬ”). b Posterb ofbb the Euromaidan b revolution. Khreschatyk Street. Zaporizhzhya. March 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.8 Pictureb 14.bb “Love Russians b despise bb Putin” (“ɏʂɥɬɰ b ɴɷɵɵɮɬɹ b ɳɴɩɫɬɴɤɩɰ ɓɷɶɬɱɤ”).bb A poster b made b by b the b prostor(s) bb of the b Euromaidan b revolution. The poster was placed on the carcass of the symbol of the Euromaidan revolution- the Christmas tree. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.9 b

Pictureb 15.bbb “People think” (“ɏʂɨɬ b ɫɤɨɷɰɤɭɶɩɵʀ”):bbbbb A graffito painted in Russian by the protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkinabb

Pictureb 16.bbbb “We need a Ukrainian b President. bbb PS: A Banderovite” b (“ɑɤɰ b ɳɲɶɴʉɥɱɬɭb ɳɴɩɫɬɨɩɱɶ ɷɮɴɤʊɱɩɺʀ. ɓɕ:bbɅɤɱɨɩɴʉɦɩɺʀ”): Ab graffitob painted in Ukrainian by the protestor(s) of the Euromaidan revolution. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.10 b Picture 17: “To Europe without Yalynkovych!” (“В Європу без Ялинковича!”)/ poster behind the fire extinguisher: “First hat of Yanukovych” (“Первая шапка Януковича”). Khreshchatyk Street. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 18: “The Communist party” (“Ком партия”). Khreshchatyk Street. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.11 Picture 19: The “Strike Poster” exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv. November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 20: “Я крапля в океані” (“I am a drop in the ocean”) (poster text written in Ukrainian). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. Kyiv. February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.12 Picture 21: “Euromaidan-- best that could have happened to Ukraine” (“Евромайдан- лучшее, что могло случиться с Украиной” (text written in Russian). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 22: “The Yanukovych Nose” (“Ніс Януковича”). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.13

Picture 23: “We are being beaten at our own expense” (“Нас бьют за наши деньги”). Text written in Russian. The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 24: “We do not need such hockey” (“Такой хоккей нам не нужен”) (text written in Russian). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.14

Picture 25: “Imagine-- there in no Putin”. The “Strike Poster” project. Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

Picutre 26: “Constitution of Ukraine (Article 5): The only source of power in Ukraine are the people” (“Коституція України стаття 5: Єдиним джерелом влади в Україні є народ”) (text written in Ukrainian). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.15 Picture 27: “Shame for the entire world” (“Сором на весь світ”) (text written in Ukrainian). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, February 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 28: “I am responsible for what is going to happen tomorrow”. The“Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.16

Picture 29: “The Ukrainian nightmare.” The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 30: ““This is Not for Europe, But: For the future of our kids…for roads without pits…This is not for Europe but for medicine in the hospitals; This is not for Europe but for courts without bribes; This is not for Europe but against bribes in the kindergartens; This is not for Europe but for police without bribes; This is not against Russia but against the corrupt state authorities.” The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.17 Picture 31: “Changing the country. We apologize for the inconvenience” (“Змінюємо країну. Перепрошуємо за незручностї”). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 32: “March 2014.” The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.18

Picture 33: “The Leninfall” (“Ленінопад”). The “Strike Poster” project exhibition. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 34: “I am a drop in the ocean” (The “Strike Poster” project image posted in one of the villages of eastern Ukraine”). Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

A.19 Picture 35: “I am a drop in the ocean” (The “Strike Poster” project image, Zaporizhzhya). Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

Picture 36: “I am a drop in the ocean” (The “Strike Poster” project images used during marches in different regions of Ukraine”). Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

A.20

Picture 37: “I am a drop in the ocean” (The “Strike Poster”) poster in Paris, France. Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

Picture 38: “I am a drop in the ocean. Art making the revolution” (“Я- крапля в океані. Мистецтво робить революцію”). An image of the online article published on the official website of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Ukraine. Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

A.21

Picture 39: “I am a drop in the ocean” (“Я- крапля в океані”). Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

Picture 40: “I am a drop in the ocean” (“Я- крапля в океані”) and other posters of the “Strike Poster” project being reproduced as covers for mobile phones. Source: Egor Petrov. Kyiv, May 2016 (Image shared during the interview conducted with Egor Petrov, founder of the “Strike Poster” project).

A.22 b

Pictureb 41bb“Obtained dignity--Let bbbbbbbbbbb us protect the state!” The political poster placed by the governmentbb at the b Khreshchatyk b street b (central b street bb of Kyiv) bb as to promote b joining b the b army bb to fight in Donbas. Kyiv, October 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 42:bbbbbbbbbbbb “Friend! Have you signed up for the National Guard of Ukraine?” (Ɉɴɷɪɩ! b ɖɬ ɫɤɳɬɵɤɦɵʃbb ɨɲ ɑɤɺʉɲɱɤɯʀɱɲʊb ɧɦɤɴɨʉʊ b ɗɮɴɤʊɱɬ?).b Poster stand-board. Kyiv, May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.23 b

Picture 43: “Heroes do not die!” (“ɇɩɴɲʊ ɱɩ ɦɰɬɴɤʂɶʀ!”)-- Popular slogan of thebbbbbbbbbbbbbb Euromaidan revolution used in a state-promoted poster stand as to promote conscription to war in Donbas. Kyiv, November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 44:bbbbbb “60 000 of the best patriots b have b already b signed bb the contract. b Become bb the best!” b (ɱɤɭɮɴɤɽɬɹ ɳɤɶɴʉɲɶʉɦ ɦɪɩ ɳʉɨɳɬɵɤɯɬ ɮɲɱɶɴɤɮɶ. ɕɶɤɱʀ ɱɤɭɮɴɤɽɬɰ!)bbbbb State-promoted poster (poster stand-board). Februaryb 26,b 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.24 b

Picture 45: “National Guard of Ukraine: The service by the contract and the call of the heart -Serhijbb Shkabadura, theb Printer”).bbbb (“ɑɤɺʉɲɱɤɯʀɱɤ ɇɦɤɴɨʉʃ ɗɮɴɤʊɱɬ: ɕɯɷɪɥɤ ɫɤbb ɮɲɱɶɴɤɮɶɲɰ ɶɤb ɳɲɮɯɬɮɲɰ ɵɩɴɺʃ b -ɕɩɴɧʉɭbbbb ɜɮɤɥɤɨɷɴɤ, Ɉɴɷɮɤɴ.”). State-promoted posterb (posterb stand-board). Vinnytsia. April 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 46:bbbbbbbb “Obtained the eternal life in a fight” (“ɋɨɲɥɷɦ b ɦʉɻɱɩ b ɪɬɶɶʃ bb ɦ ɥɲʂ”).bbbbbbbbbbb State-promoted poster (poster stand-board). Kyiv. September 17, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.25 b b Pictureb 47:b“Army! b Language! b Faith! b We bb are walking bb our own b path! b We bb are Ukraine- b Petro b Poroshenko”bbbbbbbb (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ! ɐɲɦɤ! Ɇʉɴɤ! ɐɬ ɭɨɩɰɲ ɵɦɲʊɰ ɼɯʃɹɲɰ! ɐɬ-ɗɮɴɤʊɱɤ.bbɓɩɶɴɲ ɓɲɴɲɼɩɱɮo”). b State-promoted bbb poster (poster stand-board). September 17, 2018. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.26 Pictureb 49:bbbb State-organized poster exhibition onbb war inbbbb Donbas. “The army isbbb saving, protecting, helping”b (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ b ɴʃɶɷʇ, bɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, bɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”).bbbb Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina

Pictureb 50:bbbbb “The army is saving, protecting, b helping”b (“Ʉɴɰʉʃbb ɴʃɶɷʇ, ɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, b ɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”)bbbb State-organized poster exhibition onbb war inbbbbb Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.27 b

Picture 51: “The army is saving, protecting, helping” (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ ɴʃɶɷʇ, ɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, ɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”)bb The image bb of children b participating bbb in the voluntaryb concertbb in the b city bb of Kramatorsk,bb 27 July b 2014) bbb as to collect b funds bb to support b the b Ukrainian b army. b Kyiv,b Junebb 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 52:bbbbb “The army is saving, protecting, b helping” b (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ b ɴʃɶɷʇ, bɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, b ɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”).b Ukrainianbb women fighting bbbbbbbb in Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.28 Pictureb 53:bbbb One of the posters bbb of the state-organized b political b poster b exhibition b “The b army bb is saving,b protecting,b helping”bbb (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ ɴʃɶɷʇ, ɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, bɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”). b Ukrainian soldiers in Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 54:bbbb One of the posters bbb of the state-organized b political b poster b exhibition b “The b army bb is saving,b protecting,bb helping” (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ b ɴʃɶɷʇ, bɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, bɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”).b Ukrainian soldiers in Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.29 b

Picture 55: “The army is saving, protecting, helping” (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ ɴʃɶɷʇ, ɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, ɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”). Ukrainian soldier in Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 56: “The perished in way based on months as of 21.01.2016” (“ɋɤɧɬɥɯʉ ɳɲ ɰʉɵʃɺʃɹ ɦʉɭɱɬbbbbbbbb ɵɶɤɱɲɰ ɱɤ 21.06.2016). Sofiivska square. Kyiv, May 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.30 b Pictureb 57:bbbbb “The army is saving, protecting, b helping” b (“Ʉɴɰʉʃ b ɴʃɶɷʇ, bɫɤɹɬɽɤʇ, b ɨɲɳɲɰɲɧɤʇ”). Ukrainian soldier in Donbas. Kyiv, June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.31 b

Picture 58: “Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.32 Pictureb 59:bbbbbbbbbbb“Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 60:bbbbbbbbbbb “Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.33 Pictureb 61:bbbbbbbbbbb “Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Pictureb 62:bbbbbbbbbbb “Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.34 Pictureb 63:bbbbbbbbbbb “Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 64:bbbbbbbbbbb“Projectio.” Boryspil International Airport. Kyiv, April 17, 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.35 b

Pictureb 65:b Ordinary-citizens bbbbbbbbbbbb made posters with images of the soldiers and journalists who died inbbb war in Donbas b (placed bbb on the columns bbb of the Statue bb of Independence b (Maidanb Nezalezhnostib square). Kyiv, February 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Pictureb 66:bbbbbImage on the right: “Father, bbb will you protect?” b (ɖɤɶɷ, bbɶɬ ɫɤɹɬɵɶɬɼ?).bbbbb State-promoted political poster making abb call tobb join theb Ukrainianbb army. Khreschatyk street, Kyiv, October 2015.b Image on the left: column of the Statue of Independence (Maidan Nezalezhnosti square): Ordinary-citizensb placed b posters/imagesbb of the b soldiers b killed bb in war bb in Donbas. b Kyiv, b February b 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.36 b

Pictureb 67:bbbbbbbbb “For each of us death has a bullet” ("ɑɤ b ɮɤɪɨɲɧɲbb ɬɫ ɱɤɵ bb ɷ ɵɰɩɴɶɬ ɩɵɶʀ ɳɲ ɳɷɯɩ"), message of the graffito. Maidan Nezalezhnosti squarebb (ordinary citizens-made bbbbbbbbbbb posters placed at the columns of the Statue of Independence). Maidan Nezalezhnosti square: February 2016. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Pictureb 68:b“ATO b (“Anti b Terrorist b Operation” bb or conscription bb to fight bb in Donbas) b should b begin b frombbbbbbb Verkhovna Rada (the government)” (“Ʉɖɒ ɱɷɪɱɲ ɱɤɻɬɱɤɶʀ bb ɵ ɦɩɴɹɲɦɱɲɭ ɴɤɨɿ”bbb Graffito. Maidan Nezalezhnosti bbbbb square. Kyiv, February 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.37 b

Pictureb 69:bb “The shocking b socio-economic b therapy b which bb is uselessly b taking bb place during b 15-20 b yearsbb is obtaining b all b signs b of b the b genocide. b The b secret b plan b of b zionistic-satanisticb regime bb of Poroshenkobb and Putin b becomes b obvious” b (ɜɲɮɲɦɤ b ɵɲɺʉɤɯʀɱɲ-ɩɮɲɱɲɰʉɻɱɤ ɶɩɴɤɳʉʃ, ɽɲ ɥɩɫɴɩɫɷɯʀɶɤɶɱɲ ɶɴɬɦɤʇbb ɳɴɲɶʃɧɲɰ 15-20 ɴɲɮʉɦ,b ɱɤɥɷɦɤʇ ɷɵʉɹbb ɲɫɱɤɮ ɧɩɱɲɺɬɨɷ. bɖɤʇɰɱɬɭ bb ɳɯɤɱ ɵʉɲɱʉɵɶɵʀɮɲ-ɱɤɶɤɱɬɱɵʀɮɲɧɲbbɴɩɪɬɰɷ ɓɲɴɲɼɩɱɮɲ-ɓɷɶʉɱɤ ɵɶɤʇ ʃɦɱɬɰ”). The citizens-placed poster. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv. November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 70:bbbbbbbbbbbbb “19.02.2017. 14.00. Maidan. This political power emerged on the blood of the heroes”bbbbbb (“19.02.2017. 14.00. ɐɤɭɨɤɱ. ɚʃ ɦɯɤɨɤ ɳɴɬɭɼɯɤ bb ɱɤ ɮɴɲɦʉ ɧɩɴɲʊɦ”). Graffito. Kyiv. October 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.38 Pictureb 71:bbbbbb “Death to Putin! Death to Yanukovych! bbb Death to Poroshenko!” b (“ɕɰɩɴɶʀ b ɓɷɶʉɱɷ!bbɕɰɩɴɶʀ ɣɱɷɮɲɦɬɻɷ! bbɕɰɩɴɶʀ ɓɤɴɤɼɩ!”). bb Graffito drawn on one of the columns of the Statue of Independence next to the poster of a famous Ukrainianbb actor, Bohdan b Stupka. b Maidan b Nezalezhnosti b square. bb Kyiv. October 2016. b Photo:b Anna Kutkina.bb

Picture 72: Poster memorial to a leader of a famous Ukrainian rock group “Skryabin,” “Kuzma” orbb Andriy Kuzmenko) bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb who died in a car accident on February 2, 2015. Right before his death, Kuzmabb was actively b criticizing bb the post-Euromaidanb government bbbb and war in Donbas. b Maidan b Nezalezhnostibbbbbbbbbbb square. Posters placed on the columns of the Statue of Independence. bb Kyiv. November 29, 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.39 b b Pictureb 73:bbb“We were simply b dumped. bb Like mugs b behind bbbbb the backs, did their things,b flushedbb us” (“ɑɤɵbb ɳɴɲɵɶɲ ɮɬɱɷɯɬ. bbbbbɣɮ ɯɲɹʉɦ ɴɲɫɦɩɯɬ ɫɤ ɵɳɬɱɤɰɬ,b ɨʉɯɤb ɵɦɲʊbbbbb ɫɴɲɥɬɯɬ. ɋɯɬɯɬ ɱɤɵ”). Ordinary citizens-madebb made poster bbb that quotes Skyabin’s bb song “Dumped” b (meaning bb the Ukrainian b governmentbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb dumping its people). The poster was placed at one of the columns of the Statue of Independence. Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv. January 11, 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b b b b

b b b Pictureb 74bb“A thief b has b stolen bb a mace b fromb abbbbbb thief.” Poster made by ordinary Ukrainians bbb as to pointbb to the b corruption bb of theb post-Euromaidanbbbb political regime. Maidan Nezalezhnosti bb square. Kyiv. January 11, 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.40 Picture 75: Toppling of the Lenin statue in Kyiv by the Ukrainian nationalists, December 8, 2013 (Euromaidan Revolution). Photo: Konstantin Chernichkin.

Picture 76: Toppling of the Lenin statue by the Ukrainian nationalists. Kharkiv. September 29, 2014. Source: The Guardian.

A.41 b Picture 77: ‘Bessarabka Lenin.’ Pedestal. Kyiv, April 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 78:bbbbb Statue of Lenin being transformed bbbb into Darth Vader. Odessa bbbb 2015. Photo: Niels Ackermann.bb

A.42 b Picture 79: Lenin transformed into a Cossack. Cherkasy. March 2016. Photo: Niels Ackermann.bb

Picture 80: Lenin painted in blue and yellow colors of the Ukrainian flag. Lybny 2016. Photo: Unknown author.bb

A.43 b Picture 81: ‘In vino Veritas?’ Private collection. Odessa region 2016. Photo: Niels Ackermann.bb

Picture 82: Lenin statue dressed in a Ukrainian shirt. Zaporizhzhya. April 24, 2014. Source: Stringer/Reuters.b

A.44 Picture 83: Zaporizhzhya region. Lenin pedestal. March 2017. Photo: Dmytro Zamiatin.

Picture 84: Pedestal of the Lenin statue. Lubny (central Ukraine). June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina. b

A.45 b

Picture 85: “Eternal Memory” (“Вічна пам’ять”). Graffito on the pedestal of the Lenin statue. Poltava (central Ukraine). June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Picture 86: Pedestal of Lenin. Kyiv. October 7, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.46 Pictureb 87:bbYevgenia Belorussets b exhibition b “Let’s Take bbb Lenin’s Head Backb Together”bb (2015). Pinchuk Art Center, Kyiv. January 13, 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Picture 88: Yevgenia Belorussets exhibition “Let’s Take Lenin’s Head Back Together” (2015). Pinchuk Art Center, Kyiv. January 13, 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.47 b b Pictureb 89:bb“Stop Nationalism.” b Pinchuk bbbb Art Center, Kyiv. January bbb 13, 2016. Photo: bb Anna Kutkina.b

A.48

Picture 90: Kyiv. Shjors monument. September 17, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.49 Pictureb 91:bbb “To the border b guards b who b died bb as ab resultbb of the b military b confrontations b during b the b timebb of guarding bb of the b border bb at the b east bb of Ukraine. b The b pain b and b sorrow b are bb in our b hearts b forever. We bow to you, the protectors of the border of Ukraine; may the eternal memory be yours! Glory to the heroes!” April 5, 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.50 bb

Pictureb 92:bbb “To the protectors bbb of the border bb of theb motherlandbb of all b generations.” b April bb 9, 2017. b Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.51 b

Pictureb 93:bbb “The state service bbbbb of the border of Ukraine. bbbbbb An avenue of the border control.” bb April 5, 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.52 b

Pictureb 94:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.53 Pictureb 95:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.54 b

Picture 96: The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. The World War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.55 Pictureb 97:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 98bbThe Ukrainian b State b Museum bbb of the Great b Patriotic b War.b Thebbbb World War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.56 b

Picture 99: “The museum-exhibitionary project. Ukraine. The reality of modern war.” The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 100:bb The Ukrainian b State b Museum bbb of the Great b Patriotic b War. bb The World bbb War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.57 b Pictureb 101:bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti bbbbbbbbb Square: The protestors helmets and slogans of Maidan. Kyiv. June 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 102:bb The Ukrainian b State b Museum bbb of the Great b Patriotic b War. bb The World bbb War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.58 b Pictureb 103:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

b Picture 104: “The museum-exhibitionary project. Ukraine. The reality of modern war.” The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.59 b

Pictureb 105:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Pictureb 106:bb “The museum-exhibitionaryb project. b Ukraine. bb The reality bbb of modern war.” bb The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.60 b

Picture 107: “Porter Pub.” Kyiv. July 2016. Source: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 108: “Porter Pub.” Kyiv. July 2016. Source: Anna Kutkina.b

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Picture 109: The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. The World War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 110: The Ukrainian State Museum of the Great Patriotic War. The World War II Exhibition. Kyiv. July 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

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Pictureb 111:bb Live collage bbb of the t-shirts bbb of the participants bbb of the Euromaidan b Revolution. b Messages of the t-shirts: “Lviv has not calmed down yet,” “Glory to Heroes,” “You are forever alivebbb in a heated b heart” b (“ɏʀɦʉɦ b ɱɩ b ɫɤɵɳɲɮɲʊɦɵʃb ɽɩ,” b “ɇɩɴɲʃɰb ɵɯɤɦɤ,”bb “Ɇɬ ɦʉɻɱɲ b ɪɬɦʉ bb ɦ ɧɤɴʃɻɲɰɷb ɵɩɴɺʉ”). b Maidan b Nezalezhnosti square. May 2014. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.63 b Picture 112: Sofiivska square. June 2015. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

b Picture 113: Khreschatyk Street. Knygarnya E. June 2015. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

A.64 Picture 114: Khreschatyk Street. Knygarnya E. June 2015. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 116: Khreschatyk Street. Knygarnya E. June 2015. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

A.65 b

Picture 117: Khreschatyk Street. Knygarnya E. June 2016. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 118: Stand-board poster: “Movie by Oles Yanchuk. The Secret Diary of Symon Petlura” (“ɘʉɯʀɰbb ɒɯɩɵʃ ɣɱɻɷɮɤ.bɖɤʇɰɱɬɭbbb ɝɲɨɩɱɱɬɮ ɕɬɰɲɱɤ ɓɩɶɯʂɴɬ”). September 17, 2018. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.66 Picture 119: The “Right Sector” flag. Euromaidan. Khreshchatyk Street. May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

b Pictureb 120:bbThe “Right b Sector” b flag. b Maidan b Nezalezhnostib square.bb May 2014. b Photo: b Anna b Kutkina.

A.67 b Pictureb 121:bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbPolitical poster. “The Right Sector: if not me, then who? If not now, then when?”. June 2016. Kharkiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b b

b Pictureb 122.bbbbbMessage of the graffiti: “‘Language’ bbbbbbb (in Ukrainian) and not ‘Language’ (in Russian)?” (“ɐɲɦɤ ɤ ɱɩ ʃɫɿɮ”). June 2014. Zaporizhzhya. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b b

A.68 b Pictureb 123:bbbbbbbbbbbbMessage of the graffiti: “No to war. Yes to Nazism” (“ɑɩɶ ɦɲɭɱɩ. bbɈɤ ɱɤɺɬɫɰɷ”)/bbbbbbb “Junta will be! Yes to Nazism” (“əɷɱɶɤ b ɥɷɨɩ. bbɈɤ ɱɤɺɬɫɰɷ”). Lubny. June 2016. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

b Pictureb 124:bbbbbbbbbbbbbbContent of the graffiti: Lyrics of the Ukrainian singer Kuzma-- “If wherever you lookbb is darknessb andbbbbbbbbbbbb color-black that means you fell asleep and tomorrow will be better” February 2017. Lviv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b b

A.69 b Pictureb 125:bbbbbGraffiti: “OUN- Power, Honor!” (“ɒɗɑ b ɕɬɯɤ b ɛɩɵɶʀ”). b November b 2016. Kryvij Rih. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

b b Pictureb 126:bbbbbGraffiti: “Glory to Ukraine” (“ɕɯɤɦɤ b ɗɮɴɤʊɱʉ”). bbbb Poltava. April 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b b

A.70 b

Pictureb 124A:bb Graffiti: “Freedom bbb or death” (“Ɇɲɯʃ bb ɤɥɲ ɵɰɩɴɶʀ”). bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. Kyiv. May 2014. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 125AbbbGraffiti: “West andb Eastbb are together b forever. b P.R.O. bbb -- D. Shukhevych” b (“ɋɤɹʉɨ ʉ ɵɹʉɨ ɴɤɫɲɰ ɱɤɫɤɦɪɨɬ. ɓ.ɔ.ɒ. Ɉ. ɜɷɹɩɦɬɻ”). Poltava. April 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

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Picture 126A: “Return your Crimea” (“ɓɲɦɩɴɱɬ ɵɦʉɭ Ɏɴɬɰ”). Khreshchatyk Street. Kyiv. November 2015. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Picture 126B:“Ɇɷɯ. ɇɩɴɲʊɦ ɑɩɥɩɵɱɲʊ ɕɲɶɱʉ” (“Street of the Heroes of thebb Heavenly Hundred.” bbbbbbbb Image of first change of the street-names: Institytska bbbb street in Kyiv being renamed in the “Street of the Heavenly Hundred.” June 2014. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.72 Picture 127: Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. February 2016. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

Picture 128: Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. February 2016. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

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Picture 129: Store-shelf: Price tags with the sign “Made in Russia” (“Ɇɬɴɲɥɯɩɱɲ ɦ ɔɲɵʉʉ”). June 2016. Kryvij Rih. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

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Picture 130: The “100 years of Fighting for Freedom” and the “ATO” (Anti-Terrorist Operation”)bbbbbbbbbb exhibitions. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

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Pictureb 131:bb The “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” bbb and the “ATO” b (Anti-Terrorist b Operation”) exhibitions. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.76 b b Pictureb 132:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” bbb and the “ATO” b (Anti-Terrorist b Operation”)bbbbbbbbbb exhibitions. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

A.77 b Pictureb 133:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” bbb and the “ATO” b (Anti-Terrorist b Operation”)bbbbbbbbbb exhibitions. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

b b Pictureb 134:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” bbb and the “ATO” b (Anti-Terrorist b Operation”)bbbbbbbbbb exhibitions. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.78 b b Pictureb 135:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition/ b Messageb ofbb the poster: b “New b Army”. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

b Pictureb 136:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition. b Maidan b Nezalezhnosti b Square. b October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

A.79 b Pictureb 137:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition/ b Message b ofb thebbb poster: “New Army”. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

b b Pictureb 138:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition/ b Message bbb of the poster: b “New b Army”. Maidan Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b b

A.80 b Pictureb 139:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition. b Maidanb Nezalezhnostibb Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.81 b b Pictureb 140:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition.b Maidanbbb Nezalezhnosti Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.82 b Pictureb 141:bbThe “100 b years bb of Fighting bb for Freedom” b exhibition. b Maidanb Nezalezhnostibb Square. October 2017. Kyiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b b b b b b b b b b b b b b

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Pictureb 142:bbbbb “For your and our freedom b 1968-2018” b (“ɋɤ b ɦɤɼɷ bb ʉ ɱɤɼɷ b ɵɦɲɥɲɨɷ 1968-2018”) September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.

Pictureb 143:bbbbb “For your and our freedom b 1968-2018” b (“ɋɤ b ɦɤɼɷ bb ʉ ɱɤɼɷ b ɵɦɲɥɲɨɷ 1968-2018”) September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.84 Pictureb 144:bbbbb “For your and our freedom b 1968-2018” b (“ɋɤ b ɦɤɼɷ bb ʉ ɱɤɼɷ b ɵɦɲɥɲɨɷ 1968-2018”) September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Pictureb 145:bbbbb “For your and our freedom b 1968-2018” b (“ɋɤ b ɦɤɼɷ bb ʉ ɱɤɼɷ b ɵɦɲɥɲɨɷ 1968-2018”) September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

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Pictureb 146:bbbbb “For your and our freedom b 1968-2018” b (“ɋɤ b ɦɤɼɷ bb ʉ ɱɤɼɷ b ɵɦɲɥɲɨɷ 1968-2018”) September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.86 Pictureb 147:bb“Maidan: Landscape bbb of Memory.” State-sponsored b exhibition. bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. September 19, 2018. Photo: Anna Kutkina.b

b Pictureb 148:bb “Maidan: Landscape bbb of Memory.” State-sponsored b exhibition. bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. September 19, 2018. Source: Anna Kutkina.b

A.87 Pictureb 149:bb “Maidan: Landscape bbb of Memory.” State-sponsored b exhibition. bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti square. September 19, 2018. Source: Anna Kutkina.

A.88 Pictureb 150:bb Maidan Nezalezhnosti bb Square. Informational bbbbbb stand. Kyiv. October 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.89 b b Pictureb 151:bbMaidan Nezalezhnosti bb Square. Informational bbbbbb stand. Kyiv. October 2017. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.90 Pictureb 152:bbb Commemorative board: thebb participants ofb thebbbb Euromaidan Revolution. February 2017. Lviv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.91 b Picture 153: Commemorative board. February 2017. Vinnytsia. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

Pictureb 154:bbb Commemorative board: Thebb participant ofb thebbbb Euromaidan Revolution from Donetsk State University. February 2017. Vinnytsia. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.92 Pictureb 155:bbb Commemorative board: Thebb participants ofb thebbb pro-Ukrainian march inbb Kharkiv (February 22, 2015). June 2016. Kharkiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb

A.93 b b Pictureb 156:bbbCommemorative board: Thebb participants ofb thebbb Euromaidan Revolution inbb Kharkiv. June 2016. Kharkiv. Photo: Anna Kutkina.bb b

A.94 b b Pictureb 157:bbbbbbbb“Heroes do not die. Glory to Ukraine!” (“ɇɩɴɲʊ bb ɱɩ ɦɰɬɴɤʂɶʀ. b ɇɩɴɲʃɰb ɕɯɤɦɤ!”). b Maidan b Nezalezhnosti b square. bbbb April 2015. Kyiv. Photo: bb Anna Kutkina.b

A.95