“Artistic freedom comes with responsibility”: Luiza Moroz on the 3rd anniversary of Russia’s war against Ukraine

On the third anniversary of Russia’s brutal and unprovoked war of aggression against Ukraine, Culture Action Europe reaffirms its support for Ukraine’s independence and territorial integrity.

Three years on, the Ukrainian people continue to resist the aggressor at an unbearable cost. Any negotiations must fully respect and uphold Ukraine’s sovereignty over its own future. We call for at least 2% of Russia’s frozen assets to be allocated to Ukraine’s cultural recovery. The destruction of culture—including looting and the deliberate targeting of cultural heritage and infrastructure—is not collateral damage; it is a strategic weapon in Russia’s war that must not go unanswered.

Culture Action Europe welcomes the EU’s continued support for Ukraine and hopes to see its latest commitments rapidly translated into action. As Russia weaponises culture to spread propaganda and distort history, the EU must integrate culture into its security and preparedness agenda. 

On this day, we share the speech of our Policy Adviser, Luiza Moroz, delivered on 19 November 2024 at the conference ‘Resilience Through Culture: The EU’s Support for the Ukrainian Cultural Sector,’ organised by the Goethe Institute with the support and participation of the European Commission (DG EAC) in Brussels.

The cultural sector in Ukraine is caught in a dichotomy.

On the one hand, we witness a cultural renaissance. The situation is dire, but the existential threat and the liminality of our being have brought an even deeper appreciation for culture. Despite scarce resources, Ukrainians are creating, consuming, and asserting their identity through culture.

Take theatre, for example. Tickets for performances by Ukrainian theatre director Ivan Uryvsky sell out instantly and are often resold at several times the original price. The Ukrainian artistic group MUR released a rap opera You [Romance], which resonated with young audiences. While some questioned its artistic quality, the heated debates on Facebook might be the best proof of its impact.

Ukraine reminds us that culture often thrives in crisis. Right now, Ukrainian culture embodies the principle of cultural democracy. It offers a space for collective thinking. It is where we put our shared pain, reflect on our past and future. This isn’t necessarily about cultural policy or infrastructure, but about culture as a fundamental, raw, creative force—both therapeutic and transformative.

But that’s one side of the story.

On the other hand, culture is being murdered. We are losing heritage, institutions, and, most painfully, people.

In 2023, the historical action film Dovbush premiered in Ukraine and was immediately embraced by audiences. Recently, the director shared that seventy of the crew members are now serving in the armed forces. Seven are missing in action. Five have been killed.

[…] Not only the contributions of those murdered are wiped out. They don’t raise their children. They don’t teach their students. The next generation of artists disappears with them. And it’s not just about well-known names. It’s about thousands of cultural workers in smaller towns and villages who will never make the headlines but who quietly transform their communities. 

Let me tell you a story about one of those men—a creative entrepreneur from Mykolaiv, a city in southern Ukraine.

About 25 years ago, he started an advertising agency and a ticketing business for cultural events. He believed that no political or social change was possible without culture. Later, he became a strategic adviser to the local cinema, where he constantly brought new ideas to life—a museum of cinema, a film school, a fashion show of local designers. 

He energised the cultural life of a provincial city. He mentored students, connected people, and was a magnet for anyone seeking advice or inspiration.

That man is my father.

When the war began, my dad—a pacifist, a Gandhi admirer, the kindest and most loving person I know—joined the army.

They assigned him to paperwork—he was already fifty. But he volunteered to be a medic in the infantry, believing he could contribute more there.

At the end of July, we learned that my dad was missing in action, presumed dead. 

My family and I exist in between two worlds: the world of the living and the world of the dead. So does Ukrainian culture—half alive, half dead. Its best sons and daughters are gone. And yet, despite everything, life goes on—full of dark, cynical, defiant hope. 

When the full-scale war began, everything I worked on felt irrelevant—especially culture. I later shared my doubts with my father. He told me: ‘When I get a week off once or twice a year, I want to take my little son to a puppet theatre. To watch a Ukrainian cartoon in the cinema. To buy him all the books he wants. I want to bond with him over something beautiful and fun and creative.’

And that’s exactly what he did.

When his military unit returned some of his belongings, we found a ticket to a cartoon—the last one he took my brother to see in Kyiv. He had kept it as a souvenir in his wallet.

My dad was happiest knowing that creativity persisted. That people were still making art, writing books, staging plays. In Ukraine, we don’t need to look for the intrinsic value of culture—it’s everywhere. Grassroots, vernacular, deeply rooted. It’s what we are holding on to. The tone shifts, the themes change, but culture persists as long as life persists over death.

This is why we react so strongly to Russian cultural presence abroad. Even the so-called liberal opposition refuses to acknowledge that artistic freedom comes with responsibility. They glorify the greatness of their culture while turning a blind eye to reality. They refuse to confront the colonial nature of their culture, to ask themselves what went wrong. Instead, we see justification, victim-playing, a desperate push to make the West forget—to return to ‘normal’ as soon as possible.

What can the EU do to support Ukrainian culture? This question needs to be addressed on multiple levels.

First, to support Ukraine, the EU must become stronger. Ukraine is not only fighting Russia but also Iran, North Korea, and China. […] The world order is shifting, and a new one is emerging. In this moment of transformation, culture is arguably the most critical portfolio, because it defines the limits of imagination—what is possible before policy even begins.

Second, support Ukraine’s structures and its people. Support institutions. Projects are short-term; democratic institutions endure. The 2024 Nobel Prize in Economics proves that. Cultural exchange is equally vital, as it gives Ukrainians a platform to speak about Ukraine abroad. […] 

Most importantly—trust the artists. EU funding often comes with multiple conditions: be green, be digital, be inclusive. These priorities matter, but they must be weighed against Ukraine’s reality. Trust the cultural sector to define its own needs. Include it in designing support mechanisms.

We deeply appreciate Commissioner Micallef reiterating the EU’s support for Ukraine. It is a strong political signal. The special Creative Europe call for Ukraine is very relevant, and we see other EU programmes opening opportunities for Ukraine. To enhance this support, one option could be cumulative funding—allowing Ukrainian applicants who receive Creative Europe grants to access structural and regional funds more easily. A similar mechanism already exists in the EU’s STEP platform, which will likely serve as a model for the next Multiannual Financial Framework. It will be useful to explore how it may be applied in the cultural sphere.

Third, in the coming months, peace plans—different peace plans—will dominate discussions. Help us preserve memory. If the conflict freezes, nothing changes, and everyone forgets, the enemy will return stronger.

After World War II, thousands of books, artworks, and philosophical debates reflected on the war. We studied the banality of evil, collective guilt, and the meaning of ‘never again.’ And yet, people are often lured into pseudo-peace, which ultimately prepares the ground for the next war.

Remember the Budapest Memorandum. Remember Georgia, Syria, Moldova, Ukraine. Re-read Hannah Arendt and Thomas Mann. Read Oleksandr Mykhed, Maksym Kryvtsov, and Victoria Amelina.

Don’t fall for Russia’s promises. Appeasing an aggressor under the guise of dialogue, artistic freedom, or friendship has historically led to violence, censorship, and massacre. Keeping this memory alive—at a personal and institutional level—is one of the most important investments in Ukrainian culture and its future. 

Whether Ukrainian culture survives—whether it emerges from the land of the dead or dissolves into the air like Eurydice—depends on many factors: weapons, allies, diplomacy, strategy. But above all, it depends on people. Those who fight, those who build, those who remember, those who dare to imagine a future without oppression.

Support these people. Be one of them.