Belarusian Culture: At the turn of times

Maxim Zhbankov

Summary

The cultural results of 2020 are fundamentally different from those of recent years. The global coronavirus pandemic and the 2020 presidential election greatly dramatized the public sentiment, bringing pivotal changes to the cultural field. The previously observed conceptual coexistence – atonic administration from upstairs and niche partisanship downstairs – entered a phase of acute aesthetic (and essentially political) strife. The authorities’ cultural policy turned into a police regime.

The established forms of informal author’s expression, project thinking, and organization of creative processes of the era of inertial stability have been destroyed, repressed, or pushed into a cultural exile. The state culture industry finally proved its impotence, even in terms of serving the propagandistic interests of the government.

Virtually none of the prominent cultural opinion leaders were prepared for the sharp and catastrophic reformatting of their semantic and stylistic attitudes, and, therefore, the time of political breakdown and civic activism was aesthetically arranged as a protest collage, montage, citation, lampoonish reel, a spontaneous zero stage of the coming cultural revolution.

Trends:

Crisis of cultural conventions instead of meaning

Over the past few years, Belarusian culture had been living in the mode of soft disagreement and decorative protest. The absence of real grassroots leverage for changing the existing system implied the upper reaches’ non-intervention for adjusting the underground. The tiers of the cultural system learned to ignore each other demonstratively. The mutual indifference of the cultural field segments gave each of them a chance to exist comfortably within the bounds of the flight schedule without reaching for a surgical correction of the reality. Problems came with demand for a redistribution of power.

Changes were basically triggered by the synchronicity of two manifestations of helplessness of the powers that be: the molluscous and much-too-late response to the coronavirus and provocative blocking of alternative candidates in the course of the presidential election. The formation of a culture of ‘new pragmatists’, free of both the protective rhetoric of the authorities and the traumatic-heroic national romanticism, which we wrote about in the previous reviews, led to the understanding of the urgent need for new management in the critical situation in the country, and, consequently, identified non-partisans of the ‘creative class’ as political opponents to the system, an immediate threat to its irremovable leader.

Together, the coronavirus and the authoritarian regime thinned out the cultural landscape. The pandemic ruined the spring touring plans, and state terror finished it off in the summer and autumn, scaring away all more or less conscious visiting artists. In the spring, art galleries were repurposed into venues to raise funds to fight the coronavirus. Art managers began to be questioned on suspicion of anti-state activity, and painters and artists began to be sentenced to administrative arrests.

In the spring, actors began dying in local theaters that were not promptly quarantined. The summer saw a mass exodus of “politically undesirable” actors (both voluntary and forced). Clubs were closed for medical reasons first, and then blacklists of protesting musicians were compiled. Detentions at neighborhood concerts became a routine practice.

The Ministry of Culture decided to finance four independent films, including those based on literary bestsellers by Viktor Martinovich and Andrei Gorvat, but came to senses shortly, and halved the list, leaving the least controversial ones: the series about Pesnyary band frontman Mulyavin and wrestler Medved.

The leading cultural venue OK 16 and crowdfunding platform ULEJ were shut down on ridiculous charges, in fact, because of their association with members of the election team of opposition candidate, banker Viktor Babariko.

Almost all literary prize events were rescheduled. The Pradmova book festival was postponed from the spring to the autumn. Listapad prestigious film festival ventured to respond to the latest events of the summer and autumn, organized a Belarusian cinema special program with several discussion panels, and was cancelled shortly before the opening.

Cultural emigration was the order of the day, increasingly turning into emergency evacuation rather than touring.

The futile expectations for the national premiere of Vladimir Yankovsky’s “Kupala”, which was filmed as far back as 2018, look quite natural against this background. In terms of cultural policy, the authorities live in concrete defense, preferring to block rather than allow. The most accurate metaphor of this was the daring performance by artist and writer Ilya Sin: a head in concrete, waiting for a doctor.1

Time backward: signs of yesterday’s tomorrow

It still seemed in mid-summer that everything would be the same as always, only many would come to the polling stations wearing white ribbons this time. The initial message of the soft pop-protest was not the brutal chants of the Tor Band, but tender, melancholic ballads with refrains like “late again” (the duet of Levon Volsky and Vladimir Pugach) or “we are few, but we exist” (Anna Sharkunova with a brigade of local pop stars). The hipster mix of depression and narcissism proved to be absolutely proportionate to the political infantilism of the new generation of dissenters.

Another collectively performed song “To You” (music by Nastya Shpakovskaya of Naka band; lyrics by former presidential candidate Vladimir Neklyayev) released in July before the stolen election and massive repression was a traumatic false start amid overall complacency.2 The angry and audacious lyrics written on the heels of the 2010 events and published by the author as late as 2020 sounded like a cry of the defeated before the battle had even begun. All this did not work for the victory whatsoever. In fact, no one wanted to win with this. The role of emotional trigger went to a dead hero: Viktor Tsoi with his eternal “Change!” was the best old news of the season.

The acceleration of social transformations – growth of civic initiatives and self-organization, politicization of the previously neutral creative community, new forms of mutual aid and solidarity – created a totally new reality unexpectedly for the majority within just a few months. A package of overdue cultural texts conceived and rolled out in the time of social stagnation, decorative nationalism and embroidered patriotism was a natural consequence.

Levon Volsky’s next album “Amerika”3 offered the jolted April country a packet of postcards from the other side, a bunch of song stylized as cowboy songlets, Mexican chants, and Hollywood panache. A couple of striking new songs (“When that Snow Begins” and “Spoils”) just underscored the artificiality (and optionality) of the overall concept.

Three other messages from the past won the Giedroyc Award: Sergei Dubavets’ “Tantamareski” (a story of the sensational case of Oshmyany customs officers), Andrei Adamovich’s “Song about Timur” (chronicles of the literary bohemia of the global inhibition period) and Zaraslava Kaminskaya’s retro, cozy “Christmastide Table.”

A new release from major literary figure of recent years Algerd Bakharevich, “The Last Book by Mr. A”, was positioned as “the main book of the summer”, but it clearly lost to the high-wrought lexis of social media and street activism in terms of demand and public attention. A collection of strange stories gathered under one cover in the style of The Decameron or The Manuscript Found in Saragossa could have pleased both a literary gourmet and a naïve neophyte. But not this time. Explosive reality with its unending catastrophe and perpetual emotional swings proved weakly compatible with the principles of fine fiction and the posture of the stellar author.

The testimony of the jailed was rightly the main literary bestseller of the year.

Country in pieces: post-culture of the post-stability period

The post-election collapse of the conditionally stable cultural constitution of things was a response to the political crisis, the mayhem of brutality, and the death of all social guarantees. The decorative obsequious quasi culture was definitely inferior to the aggressive standup of state television info-killers with respect to ideological significance, and finally acquired the status of a suitcase without a handle in the eyes of the authorities: nothing to love, no reason to pay.

After most of Kupala Theater actors left in protests, the country’s major stage was filled with folk dancers, improvised vocal groups, and hastily assembled undergraduates. Prima Margarita Levchuk, prominent baritone Ilya Silchukov and conductor Andrei Galanov were kicked out of the Bolshoi Theater during the political purge for appeals in support of strikers, together with violinist Alla Dzhigan and viola player Alexandra Potemina. Philharmonic artists were detained right in the theaters.4 Art university teachers were fired for their sociopolitical activism. Some of them quit as a token of disagreement with the administrations’ conservatory policies.

Significant light genre artists, who had never been seen as protesters before (Denis Dudinsky, Litesound, Anna Sharkunova and government-favored Tyani Tolkai band among them) came out in support of changes, and condemned the lawlessness of the authorities. Stellar pop-rockers Nizkiz released “Rules” music video filmed at a large-scale protest march on August 16.5

Pop artists from the Slavic Bazaar pool recorded “The Beloved is Never Given Away”, a pro-Lukashenko music video. The Free Choir, a partisan band of vocalists, make a statement in the most unexpected public places, like hypermarkets, the city circus and subway and train stations, as soon as August.

The collapse of former cultural conventions brought the ideological and aesthetic confrontation to the boil. The legal cultural industry lapsed into a coma, and a huge number of brilliant performers found themselves outside the admissible forms of public action. In the absence of authorized venues, the banned music and inconvenient theaters went online. The situation got more complicated when mass terror was unleashed, and the authorities consistently described the protesting artists as political militants and enemies of the state.

Combined with the tour cancellations, coronavirus restrictions and the hunt for dissenters, all this put Belarusian culture in a state of emergency with administrative mayhem, censorship, bans on free actions, criminal prosecution, coercion to loyalty, psychological blackmail, and severe segregation.

In response, the country saw an eruption of protest creativity, from graffiti and political placards to conceptual exhibitions that turned the Belarusian cultural protest into an international event.6 Topical poems by persecuted poets Dmitry Strotsev, Anna Komar and Vladimir Lyankevich, protest diaries by Julia Timofeyeva, and “The Last Word of Childhood: Fascism as a Memory” essay by Algerd Bakharevich were promptly translated into a number of European languages. The Belarusian music protest was called unprecedented by respected music critic Artemy Troitsky.7

The catatonia of old institutions that supported and protected cultural activities from the intimidated and weak-willed Ministry of Culture to the crowdfunding platforms strangled by inspections left the niche of a coordinating and strategic center of cultural processes unfilled. Political repression in the cultural sector actualized support for artists under pressure and their projects. In October 2020, artists formed the Belarusian Cultural Solidarity Foundation headed by producer Sergei Budkin. It started with assistance to victims of repression, and then engaged in its own cultural projects, cultural diplomacy and cultural reform strategies. The Foundation organized online concerts to raise funds for persecuted artists.

Cabaret Belarus: easy genres for hard times

The complete decentering and liberation, blurred boundaries of chaotic emotion and professional expression were the main achievements of the 2020 protest art alongside the actualization of the free feuilleton style of light cultural writing in a situation of general cultural nullification and lingering mental calamity. The pushing of creativity from the legal field inevitably means the return of cultural partisanship, parallel forms of creative expression, informal communities, and spontaneous improvisational stylistics.

The etalon artist of this crucial epoch is not a writer, but a scriptwriter. Documentary is the best format of the cinema year. Maxim Shved’s “Rearranged Itinerary” film has a high international approval rating.8 The simple endeavor to ride with cab drivers through a summer pre-election city and scan public sentiments provided a great opportunity to capture the atmosphere of the eves, when anything is still possible, and no one has died yet. The naïve improvisational style of the rally broadsheets, unlooked-for videos, remakes and remixes, loose quotations and militant sarcasm, the folkloric drive with allowance for longhair swagger. The new generation not just came into politics. It made it popular, mosaic and farraginous, carnivalesque and groovy.

The online song blogging, immediate-action music and playfulness on the Titanic were the best defense against the post-election shock therapy. The new music video from Sergei Mikhalok and Dresden band (directed by Karolina Polyakova) turned Mikhalokovian usual semantic vinaigrette into a set of markers of a falling apart era, combining the author’s stream of consciousness with the footage of violence and pop culture residue. Opera diva on the road Margarita Levchuk went into a pugnacious cabaret with guitarist and lyricist Andrei Pauk.

The picturesque RSP slobs unexpectedly released caustic, minimalist techno tracks about “Baba Lida”, “Kolya in the Armor Vest” and “Not the Feeling that used to Be.” A little earlier, the rebellious Kupala theater actors mixed a crazy provincial disco, teaching the whole country to chant “Shchuu-u-chynsh-chyy-yna!”

The nation is learning to speak again in all languages at once, slipping into prop playing, rogue songs or arthouse every now and then, making covers of Kobzon or Rotaru’s songs, and not really caring about the purity of vocabulary, the rules of the genre or ‘high spirituality.’ The low-fi comatose state has no time for post-production, but it accurately measures the ‘average temperature in the hospital’ and unmistakably establishes the diagnosis.

Culture has become a struggle, and the struggle has become performance art, which can be paid for with life, as the tragic case of 31-year-old Roman Bondarenko showed.9

Conclusion

The chain of events of 2020 can be described as a changeover, a no man’s land of political and cultural transformation. The ideological and organizational degradation of the regime coincided with the mosaic upswing of civic activism, a general crisis of the old opposition, and a cardinal rotation of opinion leaders.

Systemic attacks on symbal.by and other mild Belarusization resources coupled with the wild hunt for dissenters finally buried hopes for a positive transformation of state cultural policy. The previous games with national symbols and historical memory turned out to be fundamentally incompatible with the official “besieged fortress in hedgehog defense” policy. This led to an increase in information clamor, reanimation of the partisan underground, and put into shape yet another version of Belarusian culture in exile. Squeezed out of the country, the vanguard of the creative community greatly impoverished the former picture of ‘inner Europe.’ At the same time, it has become a noticeable component of global cultural processes.

The absence of a clear strategy of change and consistent work to reset the collective consciousness has led to a chaotic creative movement of the awakening nation in all directions at once, and to a very effective albeit raw and debatable search for a new vocabulary of the turning point era.