A question of guilt

_{Warning: This text addresses sexualised violence and war crimes} 

1.

For four years I have slept badly.

When the Russians came in February 2022 to kill us Ukrainians, I had to take responsibility and pick up a weapon to defend my family. I served for three years in the infantry of the Ukrainian armed forces. I was wounded at the front and spent another year in treatment and rehabilitation. During that time, I wrote a book of eyewitness accounts from the war. The Ukranian title translates as: “Hemingway Knows Nothing”.

Half a year passed, and the book sparked interest in Ukraine and also abroad. I signed contracts for publication in ten European countries. However, I also turned down some offers because of a seemingly rhetorical question I posed: “Do you also publish Russians?”

Publishing Russian literature in the middle of a war that Russia started and continues to wage is an obvious form of collaboration. It is absurd to publish Russian works while, since the beginning of the invasion, according to the Ukrainian parliament’s human rights commissioner, 688 children have been killed, 2,392 injured, and at least 23 cases of sexual violence against children have been recorded.

Yet it turned out it that my question was necessary. In the twelfth year of Russia’s war against Ukraine, in the fifth year of the largest invasion in Europe since the Second World War, some people in Europe are still publishing books by Russians. I view this as wrong, but they don't acknowledge the problem.

“It is easy to believe that a dictator and his regime wage the war”

Usually, the author is described as a “Russian opposition figure”, an “exiled writer”, or a “fighter against the regime”. Educated European publishers fail to understand that these are merely slogans used to escape responsibility and guilt. While Ukrainians take responsibility for their families and confront killers with weapons, Russian “opposition figures” flee instead of engaging with reality.

Many do not understand that even in exile—or with a new citizenship—they continue to represent Russian culture. As long as the Russian people launch more than seventy missiles at Ukrainian cities at night—and sometimes up to 420 drones in a single night—Russian cultural figures must be isolated.

There is another misunderstanding here. It is easy to believe that a dictator and his regime are waging the war. The truth is worse. It is the Russian people themselves who are doing the killing. One hundred and forty-six million Russians are waging this war. They voted for their government and continue to support it, they back those in power, launch missiles, kill people, spread propaganda.

2

“A mother was walking with two children… And then our people finished them off in front of the children. Executed them.”
“Of course, she was an enemy.”

Telephone conversation of a Russian soldier with his wife, intercepted by the Ukrainian intelligence service SBU on 07.05.2022.

So it is the Russians who are waging this war. Not Putin alone, not his regime and ideology—but Russian men and women. You can speak of “Putin’s war”, but Putin himself isn't killing Ukrainian civilians, nor is he torturing prisoners or cutting off ears or genitals of unarmed Ukrainian soldiers. It is ordinary Russians who that do that.

Putin ordered them to take the city of Bucha. But the massacre there—where hundreds of civilians were shot, streets were full of corpses—was carried out on the initiative, and even for the apparent enjoyment, of ordinary soldiers.

Our intelligence intercepts thousands of calls from occupying soldiers to their relatives. We hear soldiers boasting about atrocities, about killing children and raping women—and their wives often encourage them, urging them to show them “what a real Russian man is”.

These are not isolated cases. This is how everyday life works during this war. The barbarians have come to kill, loot, and rape—and take pleasure in it. At this very moment, ordinary Russians are torturing, raping, and shooting innocent Ukrainians. The Russian people commit these crimes in the heart of Europe, knowing they will not be punished.

If civilised countries swallow the idea of “Putin’s war”, Russian citizens will end up sidestepping their responsibility. And then the soldier will one day tell his son the story of the woman who was “executed in front of the children”.

“She was an enemy,” the mother will add.

And the son will grow up with these thoughts in his head. And in the future, he too will search for such an enemy—perhaps a Polish woman instead of a Ukrainian, perhaps a Swede, perhaps a German.

3

Everyone has their own fate
and their own wide path:
one builds, another destroys,
one looks with greedy eyes
beyond the edge of the world,
wondering whether there is a land
somewhere to conquer and take
into the grave.

Taras Shevchenko, “The Dream”

There are more examples: invitations to literary festivals where a Russian writer is also invited; offers from publishers who, during the war, translated Russian works or published books about Russian military figures.

I went to the front at 21, survived my injuries, and was discharged into the reserves at 24. Many of my comrades came home in coffins. These coffins would haunt me for the rest of my life if I were to tolerate cooperation with Russians while they continue to kill us. All Russians share responsibility for this war in the heart of Europe—some through action, others through inaction. Both action and every inaction have consequences.

Publishing Russian books and inviting Russian authors to festivals during the war blurs the line between perpetrator and victim. For exactly that reason, many Ukrainian writers are against such events. First the killings of innocent people must stop; only then can an open conversation start.

By publishing a Russian book, you signal that dialogue is possible. You legitimise the killers. You show that Russians can be read, empathised with, and discussed. When you invite a Russian writer, you are suggesting that somewhere out there a war is being waged by “regime”, but, at the same time, there are good, intelligent people who create culture and should be listened to.

But, in reality, good Russians join Ukraine’s defence forces to stop the war. Instead of engaging in literary dialogue, the ongoing crimes must first be stopped. To be able to converse with someone, you must be alive.

4

The magazine KULTURAUSTAUSCH that you are reading right now is part of the problem. I promised to write about the immorality of publishing Russian books during the war, and then learned that it had published a text by the Russian Oleg Kashin.

An analytical article about the war in Ukraine by a Russian! For me, such a thing could only exist in an absurd dream.

“He is opposition,” the editors tried to reassure me. But what does that mean in practice? Kashin lived in Russia until 2016, paid taxes that financed wars (Chechnya, Georgia, Syria, Ukraine), then emigrated to London. He was later wanted by Russian authorities, labelled a “warmonger” by parts of the opposition, and was sanctioned by Ukraine. So who exactly is he opposing?

“What do you expect when you let a Russian write about the Russian war?”

He has stated publicly that Crimea was indeed annexed in violation of international law, but added that “everything I know about international law does not allow me to regard it as any kind of serious factor” (direct quote from his column on his own website).

I open his article on Kulturaustausch.de. The word “Putin” appears 35 times, while “Russians” appears only once. Putin’s regime has done everything, Putin is waging the war, Putin’s dictatorship, Putin’s propaganda. A manipulative text— a classic example of the “Putin war” genre. But what do you expect when you let a Russian write about Russia’s war?

5

What do those who collaborate with Russians dream of? How do they live with the knowledge that Russians kill innocent people every day, and still publish their books? Do they dream of Volodymyr Vakulenko, the Ukrainian children’s author who was tortured and buried in a forest near Izium by Russian forces? Or of Viktoriia Amelina, who wrote a book about Russian crimes and was killed in a Russian missile strike?

Ruben, the editor-in-chief of this magazine, said that—so long as he remains in his position—he would no longer cooperate with Russian authors until the end of the war. But he added that he would not delete Kashin’s article either.

In my view, the editorial team should not only remove it, but also apologise to its readers and to Ukrainians. The text violates journalistic standards (it manipulates facts and shifts responsibility for Russian crimes onto a single figure, Putin) and—more importantly—contradicts basic ethics and respect for the victims. According to the United Nations, 15,000 Ukrainian civilians have been killed by Russians—and yet you are publishing an article by a Russian who openly mocks international law.

Ruben wrote me an email explaining that he would not delete the article because “otherwise no dialogue would be possible, only acclamation.” However, he gave me the freedom to criticise his decision and the text by Oleg Kashin. While I was writing, I understood the most important thing: dear Ruben, Hans, Klaus, Emma, Elsa, dear Germans—we do not actually need to talk about Kashin. We need to talk about your feelings.

I often hear that Germans find it difficult to understand the boycott of representatives of Russian culture. I believe this is because they relate it to their own history. They think of their grandparents: what did they do during the Second World War? Could it be that they committed crimes? Could it be that they remained silent?

“In the course of years and decades, Germany became one of the leading nations of free Europe”

Dear Ruben, Hans, Klaus, Emma, Elsa: You are not afraid of silencing Kashin. You are afraid of silencing your grandmother. You believe that if you hold all Russians responsible for the war, you would also be saying your relatives are guilty of the crimes of the Second World War. But that is not true. The Russian war is very different from the Second World War—Russians have been trying for centuries to destroy our people, under dozens of different rulers and under various pretexts. That is why it is dangerous to equate the two.

But analogies can be drawn. For example, regarding the crucial importance of the concepts of “a people’s crime” and “collective guilt.”

As I see it, Germany has moved itself forward in a tremendous way that deserves respect. The German people recognised that not every German committed a crime, and therefore not every German is guilty. But everyone bears a shared responsibility for their nation. This responsibility is not an accusation, but an obligation: to understand, to express remorse, to ask for forgiveness, and to preserve the memory of innocent victims. This is an enormous task.

Over the course of years and decades, Germany became one of the leading nations of free Europe. A reliable partner to its neighbours. A guarantor of security.

Ruben, Hans, Klaus, Emma, Elsa: your grandmother may once have dreamed of this. But thanks to the efforts of your people, it has become reality today. The world now reads German writers, values German culture, and loves German beer. The Russians must follow such a path as well. They must recognise their collective responsibility for this war and assume the obligations that arise from it: to repent, to ask for forgiveness, and to carry forward the memory of innocent victims. Only then—after years or decades—will it again be ethical to read a Russian book or invite Russian writers. But today, Russians are still very far from that.

The first step on this path is the end of the war, the stopping of the killings, and the courage to say: “This is our responsibility.” But how does one speak to someone who is still in the process of killing you? As long as the Russian people are committing crimes, they must be isolated. One does not shake hands with murderers, because their hands are covered in blood. Their culture must be placed under quarantine, as the Ukrainian writer Ostap Slyvynsky has said.

When the war ends and Russians begin to travel even a hundredth of a millimetre along the path that the German people have taken, then it may one day become possible to treat at least part of their culture in a way similar to German culture. Then a European man or woman will be able to publish their books and sleep with a clear conscience. But at present, the best thing one can do is not to cooperate with Russians and to isolate their culture—as long as the war continues. This is something every publisher and every cultural worker can do. It is not too late. As long as Russians continue to kill in Ukraine, it is not yet too late for you, Europeans.

Because if the war only reaches Germany later (Russian drones have already violated NATO airspace while flying into Poland), there will no longer be time for debates in cultural journals.

6

Seventy years after the Second World War, which my great-grandfather Fedir took part in, and seven years before Russia’s full-scale war, which I myself had to join, I was sitting in a lecture at university learning about philosopher Karl Jaspers.

The German thinker who made the greatest contribution to understanding the concept of “collective responsibility.” His work The Question of German Guilt was published in 1946—after the end of the war, and at the beginning of a new path for his nation.

To explain why Russian culture should be isolated during the war, it is best not to give me the floor, but rather to the son of the German people. If, in a quotation from Jaspers in 1946, one replaces the word “Germany” with “Russia,” the answer becomes: “What was done in the name of Russia makes all Russians politically responsible.”

Russians must understand this responsibility and follow the path of repentance in order for dialogue with them to become possible. The first step is the end of the war. As long as they continue killing, they must not be given a voice.

7

May each person dream of what they deserve.
 

Translated from Ukrainian with the help of AI translation tools