Ukrainian theatremakers: 'We must make sure Ukrainian cultural identity and heritage survive'

Earlier this year, Veronika Skliarova, one of the most prominent creatives in the Ukrainian city of Kharkiv, was among those forced to flee under attack after the Russians invaded. Recently, I spoke from London to Skliarova, director of Parade Fest, to understand the situation facing her and other theatremakers in the conflict – and how they are responding. 

On February 24, she had been in the countryside on holiday with her partner and children, when they woke to hear bombing. As the situation escalated, there was no time to travel back to Kharkiv to collect their belongings or documents. She took a hellish journey out of the country to get her children to safety, leaving her partner who was prohibited from travelling due to martial law. 

Skliarova is now in Freiburg trying to comprehend a sudden and dramatically different situation. “I have travelled all over Europe to many festivals. Now I am here receiving free pasta,” she says.

‘It is a war of democracy versus authoritarianism, freedom of culture resisting an empire’

In 2020, through a British Council grant, I started collaborating with Skliarova, alongside musician Stas Kononov, dancer Nina Khyzhna, and director Artem Vusyk, all from Neft Teatr in Kharkiv – Ukraine’s second-largest city and close to the border of Russia. Covid-19 had prevented us from ever meeting in person; so it was online that I learnt how they were using culture to build a radically inclusive future, often investigating Ukrainian identity and self-determination. 

Our collaboration focused on how people translated their fears into action. We heard stories of marching at pride festivals, acts of rebellion against the patriarchy and women who flew balloons as they walked toward tanks in Crimea. 

I learnt how Ukrainian artists were coming together with a movement of civic NGOs and human rights organisations to develop alternative creative spaces that celebrated diversity, difference and freedom of choice. Parade Fest and Neft Teatr were leading the way for radical-yet-fun work, their Instagram accounts full of pictures of puppets, dancers, projections and crazy, colourful sets and costumes.

Now, despite their lives being turned upside-down and the horror of the situation, they are adapting their skills to respond and continue to fight for the free society they dream of living in. “It is a war of democracy versus authoritarianism, us against colonialism, freedom of culture resisting an empire,” Skliarova says.

‘Theatremakers are also using their skills to create organising systems and run the logistics’

Nina and Artem were in Kharkiv at the beginning of the invasion. The city has been under intense shelling and their home, and everything in it, has been destroyed. In search of safety, they travelled to Lviv, in western Ukraine, whose population has dramatically increased due to new arrivals. 

Two theatres have converted their stages for people to sleep and for storage of food and medicine. It echoes a narrative happening across Ukraine cultural spaces, which have been transformed to meet people’s current needs.

Nina and Artem are helping with humanitarian aid and in the hours they spend in the bomb shelter they have started creating theatre. “It fills me with joy and brings me to tears to think they continue to make art this way,” Skliarova tells me. She is keen to join her partner and the team at Parade Fest in Ukraine, who are all now volunteering. “It’s not just that they are involved, they are also using their skills to create organising systems and run the logistics.”

Stas is part of a team of musicians and artists who have stayed in Kharkiv to distribute humanitarian aid to people who have taken permanent refuge in the underground metro stations. It is a dangerous but essential job. 

Kharkiv has been heavily bombed, killing an estimated 520 people at time of press and injuring many more. “Cities are being turned to dust; they are shooting and bombing everything, hospitals, schools and theatres,” Skliarova says. She tells me of the damage to cultural buildings in Kharkiv, including the Slovo Building (‘the House of the Word), the Philharmonic and the State Academic Opera and Ballet. “The roof was strong, so the damage was not as bad as in Mariupol,” she says, in reference to the Donetsk Academic Regional Drama Theatre, which was bombed, killing an estimated 300 civilians who were taking refuge in the basement, according to Ukrainian authorities. 

‘When Ukraine wins, we will need culture to build ourselves back’

Skliarova has been coordinating volunteers who are risking their lives to bubble-wrap paintings, photography and cultural archives in Kharkiv and help get them out of the country. But this is not just about preserving individual pieces of art: “We must make sure Ukrainian cultural identity and heritage survive a colonial war.” 

Driven by this strong resolve, performances are continuing. The Kharkiv international music festival relocated to underground metro stations and was renamed The Concert Between Explosions. Parade Fest has just launched an international initiative inviting theatres worldwide to perform testimonies scripted by writers still inside Ukraine, “a tool to ensure that people across the world have the opportunity to make our voices heard.” 

We talk of the absurdity of living in a German beerhouse, her sons being taught online by a teacher continuing classes from a bomb shelter in Kharkiv, before returning to the multiple vital roles artists are playing in this brutal war. “When this invasion is over…” Skliarova pauses to rephrase. “When Ukraine wins, people will need arts to find a way to express what has happened, to speak again. We will need culture to build ourselves back.”