Yurii Latysh. Photo: Smolny bound Borders.

Interviews Yuri Latysh, Ukrainian historian:  “The politics of memory has become an important part of the Russo-Ukrainian war”

Yurii Latysh, PhD (Candidate of Historical Sciences), visiting Professor of State University of Londrina (Brazil), deputy editor-in-chief of the journal Historical Expertise (Istoriceskaja Ekspertiza), in a discussion with Denys Kiryukhin on how the Russo-Ukrainian war has affected the politics of memory in Eastern Europe.

Published on balticworlds.com on November 21, 2025

Yurii Latysh, PhD (Candidate of Historical Sciences), visiting Professor of State University of Londrina (Brazil), deputy editor-in-chief of the journal Historical Expertise (Istoriceskaja Ekspertiza), in a discussion with Denys Kiryukhin on how the Russo-Ukrainian war has affected the politics of memory in Eastern Europe.

D.K. Thank you for agreeing to meet to discuss memory politics. I would like to begin our conversation by considering how discourses of memory have evolved in Eastern European countries since the collapse of the Soviet Union and up to the present day, including the war in Ukraine. Did memory policies in Eastern European countries evolve according to similar logic? Would it be more accurate to say that countries such as Poland, the Baltic States, Moldova, and Ukraine developed their memory policies in a similar way, whereas Belarus and Russia are a different case? How has Russia’s active promotion of its interpretation of history in the post-Soviet region contributed to the development of the “memory wars”? Finally, can we say that the conflict over the interpretation of history contributed to the war between Russia and Ukraine becoming possible?

The politics of history has become popular due to the crisis of future-oriented progress ideology. The Memory Turn, which began in the 1970s, gained new momentum after the collapse of the USSR and accelerated further following the 2008 global economic crisis. Consequently, in the political sphere, there was an increase in the popularity of far-right, nationalist, and clerical forces that were focused on preserving national identity. Unlike in Western Europe, in Eastern Europe, there is no “cordon sanitaire” (Germ. Brandmauer) that excludes right-wing radicals from participating in government coalitions. However, now the “cordon sanitaire” has largely fallen in most Western European countries as well.

The politics of memory developed alongside the political Right Turn. Nostalgia is at the heart of all right-wing and conservative forces. In the post-Soviet space, Soviet nostalgia served as the basis for communist and post-communist parties. Thus, Soviet nostalgia clashed and opposed the nostalgia for national revival (in Ukraine) or merged into a single imperial nostalgia (in Russia).

Today, history and historical memory, based on nostalgia and the construction of an ideal model of the past, are becoming one of the main ideological trends, supplanting political ideologies. In his work Nostalgia for Paradise (1940), the Romanian far-right philosopher Nichifor Crainic viewed all human activity as the result of nostalgia. He believed that nostalgia and memories of paradise are the driving force behind civilisation, which strives to regain its lost power.

However, this nostalgia is not for the real past. It is for an idealised past, which Zygmunt Bauman called Retrotopia. The demise of Utopia played a key role in this process. For a long time, humanity developed under the influence of dreams of a ‘bright future.’ However, modern society, having reached a certain level of material prosperity, has proved incapable of imagining a better world than the one we live in. The future evokes fear rather than hope. Fearing the present and the future, society seeks salvation in Retrotopia, as in the womb.

The transformation of history into an object of pride, the call to defend ethnic and racial identities, and the glorification of historical figures have replaced dreams of the future and conflicts between political ideologies. This trend has given rise to slogans such as “MAGA” or “Russia rises from its knees.”

Some governments, especially in Eastern Europe, have declared identity and history to be part of national security policy and have begun to create a convenient past. During the conflict over the Bronze Soldier you mentioned, Estonian Minister of Defence Jaak Aaviksoo (2007–2011) said: “Just like families should have the right to complete their own photo albums, such a right should also be reserved for states and nations.”

Collective memory based on national history is inherently conflictual. It provokes competition of historical narratives and hinders the critical reflection on one’s own past. National history gives rise to conflicts based on historical memory.

The securitisation of the past increases the risk of “memory wars”. A “mnemonic security trap” arises when two countries see a threat in their neighbour’s actions and strengthen their own security. In response, the neighbour also strengthens its security, and the conflict escalates continuously. It cannot be ruled out that such a war of memory could escalate into a real war. Since both Ukraine and Russia begin their histories at the same point – in the history of Kievan Rus – both sides see a threat in the other’s appropriation of ‘their’ history, an attack on their founding myth.

D.K. Now, let’s take a look at the situation in specific countries. Firstly, of course, Russia and Ukraine. How would you interpret the current Russian memory policy? What is the reason for re-Stalinisation? Why are the monuments of Stalin being returned to public spaces in Russia?

The politics of memory has become an important part of the Russo-Ukrainian war. Russia misuses history to justify its aggression.

The Russo-Ukrainian war is unique in that hundreds of monuments, toponymic objects, and other sites of memory have appeared during the war, immortalising its events and participants. Together with historian Serguey Ehrlich, I publish a monthly chronicle of the politics of history in Ukraine and Russia in the journal Istoricheskaya Ekspertiza (Historical Expertise), as well as quarterly analytical reviews in which we examine in detail the emergence of new monuments and the main meanings of the politics of history during the war. To summarise our monitoring briefly, both sides have declared this war to be existential, in which one side must win and the other must perish. Russia has declared its aggression to be a continuation of the war against Nazism. Ukraine believes that defeat threatens the destruction of Ukrainian identity. Recently, the head of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, Sviatoslav, said that Russia wants “a final solution to the Ukrainian question,” just as the Nazis did with the Jewish question. The politics of history of both countries rules out compromise and peaceful coexistence after the war.

In fact, Russia started the war for the sake of its president’s geopolitical and historical fantasies. Vladimir Putin, seeking to “replay” the collapse of the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union, restore “historical justice” and return the stray heretics of Ukraine to their “native harbour.”

For Putin’s regime, the framework of a single ideology (e.g., communism in the USSR) has become too narrow. Russia uses a set of ideologies that includes Russian imperialism, ethnic Russian nationalism, conservatism, and the struggle for “traditional values,” as well as elements of Soviet ideology.

Russia uses various approaches to memory politics based on the historiographical concepts of the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union. These concepts are often mutually exclusive. Russian propaganda can simultaneously deny the existence of the Ukrainian people and call Russians and Ukrainians brotherly peoples. In this way, propaganda appeals to different groups within Russian and Ukrainian society, drawing more and more people into its sphere of influence.

The myth of the Great Victory in World War II plays a key role in Russian politics of memory. It filled the ideological vacuum that formed in Russia after 1991. The victory over Nazism supposedly gives Russia special rights in Europe, since Europe should be grateful for its liberation. In Ukraine, this myth has become the idea of a “return to Europe,” correcting Bohdan Khmelnytsky’s erroneous decision to join the Tsardom of Moscow. Competition between Retrotopias has replaced the ideological battles of the 20th century.

During the ongoing war, the Great Russian Myth about Ukraine has taken shape, which includes:

– the thesis of the trinity of the Russian people – Velikorussians (Great Russians), Belarusians, and Malorussians (Little Russians – Ukrainians) – from which it follows that the ongoing war can be considered a civil war;

– the denial of the distinctiveness of the Ukrainian language, which was allegedly artificially created by Russia’s enemies from a dialect of Russian or Surzhyk and forcibly imposed by the Austrians in Galicia and the Bolsheviks in the Ukrainian SSR;

– the thesis of a divided Russian people as a result of the collapse of the USSR and the identification of Russian-speaking Ukrainians with Russians, whom Ukraine allegedly oppresses and seeks to forcibly Ukrainise;

– the denial of the Ukrainian people’s right to their own history, separate from the history of Russia, and the non-recognition of the Ukrainian people’s state tradition;

– claims about the formation of Ukraine’s territory as a result of “gifts” from Russian tsars and Soviet general secretaries, about the Soviet authorities’ annexation of “Russian lands” to Ukraine (the so-called “Novorossiya” is a typical colonial term for captured territories such as New Zealand, New Caledonia, New York), about Crimea as a “gift from Khrushchev,” etc.;

Co-called “Ukrainianism” is portrayed not as a national identity, but as a separatist political movement. In essence, being Ukrainian means betraying Russia. For conservative pro-Kremlin philosopher Alexander Dugin, belonging to Ukrainianism is a sin, a betrayal of Orthodoxy, the Eastern Slavs, the empire, and oneself, a transition to the side of an existential metaphysical enemy. In Putin’s eyes, the United States and the “collective West” are enemies, and Ukraine is just a traitor.

As for the re-Stalinisation, this reveals the dualism of Russia’s politics of history. For Putin, not only was the collapse of the USSR the greatest geopolitical catastrophe, but its creation was also a geopolitical catastrophe. Lenin is one of the historical figures Putin hates most. The Russian authorities have decommunised Stalin. According to Russian politics of memory, he appears as “Emperor Joseph”, the restorer of the empire and the victor over Hitler. They try not to mention that he was a revolutionary and a communist, or Stalin’s repressions. Alexandra Arkhipova and Yuri Lapshin estimated that 176 busts, monuments, and memorial plaques to Stalin have been erected since 1995. With the start of a full-scale war against Ukraine, the number of monuments to Stalin has increased: in 2022, two monuments were erected, in 2023 three, in 2024 six, and this year already 13 new sculptures. The first bust of Stalin was also erected in the occupied territories of Ukraine, in Melitopol.

However, Putin’s Retrotopia is associated not so much with the USSR and Stalin as with the period between the Congress of Vienna and the First World War, when Russia was one of the great powers and a member of the Concert of Europe. Putin is clearly impressed by Emperor Alexander III, in whose honour he unveiled monuments, named a submarine, and whose quote that Russia has only two allies – the army and the navy – he likes to repeat. The reign of Alexander III was a time of the fusion of imperialism with nationalism, an attempt to realise the project of a Russian national empire, and the introduction of the principle: one language, one religion, one state.

D.K. If we turn to the case of Ukraine, the first thing that catches our attention is the emergence of a new trend – decolonization. Is it possible to argue that modern Ukraine is a case study in decolonization through public history? In what ways has Ukraine’s approach to memory and public history evolved during the war years?

The case of Ukraine differs significantly from that of Poland, the Baltic states, and other countries in Central and Eastern Europe. Ukraine was part of the imperial core, not its periphery. In 1920, during the Polish–Soviet War, there were almost six times more Ukrainians in the Red Army than in Petliura’s army. And during World War II, more than 6 million Ukrainians fought in the Red Army. Almost every Ukrainian family has relatives who were Red Army soldiers. The nationalist movement was influential only in the western regions of Ukraine, and about 100,000 Ukrainians fought in the Ukrainian Insurgent Army. Therefore, while World War II veterans were still alive, it was difficult for the government to talk about the Soviet occupation.

Nevertheless, Ukrainian historians and authorities decided that it was necessary to copy the actions of other countries, as this had led them to build statehood after 1917. President Viktor Yushchenko tried to copy the politics of memory of Poland and the Baltic states, founded the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory as a central executive body, made the memory of the Holodomor of 1932–1933 the central narrative of the politics of history, and awarded the title of Hero of Ukraine to Roman Shukhevych and Stepan Bandera. Yushchenko’s mnemonic politics divided Ukrainian society.

After Euromaidan, when Russia annexed Crimea and started the conflict in Donbas, the Ukrainian authorities saw Russia’s use of history as a threat. The government at that time chose a strategy of mnemonic warrior, which assumes that there is only one correct interpretation of the past. Soviet nostalgia and Soviet symbols were declared a threat to Ukraine’s national security. Under the leadership of the then head of the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory, Volodymyr Viatrovych, decommunisation began, which was a shock therapy in the field of mnemonic politics. Decommunisation never had the absolute support of Ukrainians. In 2020, only 32% of Ukrainians had a positive attitude towards the ban on communist symbols, while 30% approved of the renaming of towns and streets named after communist figures. Volodymyr Zelenskyy sensed these sentiments among voters and avoided making statements on historical topics. On 31 December 2019, in his New Year’s greetings, he called on Ukrainians to be united but diverse and to learn to live together. He said that in the Ukraine of the future, “the name of the street doesn’t matter because it is lit and paved. Where it makes no difference, at which monument you’re waiting for the girl you love.”

However, after the full-scale Russian invasion, Ukraine returned to the securitisation and weaponisation of history. During the war, the main component of Ukrainian politics of memory is decolonisation, as a continuation of decommunisation. Decolonisation of memory involves removing symbols from public space, including names and memorials that are seen as markers of Russian imperial policy. Ukraine seeks to distance itself from the influence of Russian historiography, form its own national historical narrative, and develop a politics of memory linked to the European tradition.

The essence of this politics was aptly formulated by Roman Ratushnyi, a public figure who died in the war:

“Burn out the entire Russian subculture in yourself. Burn all the memories from your childhood related to the Russian-Soviet times. Burn the bridges in relationships with relatives or friends who support the other side, with everyone who is a carrier of the Russian subculture. Otherwise, all these things will burn you out.”

The intended outcome of decolonisation is to sever the cultural and historical ties between Ukraine and Russia so that no one can view Ukrainians and Russians as “one people” or “brotherly peoples” anymore.

However, the fact that decolonisation is a defensive response to Russia’s aggression does not mean that it is a correct response that is beyond criticism. Although Russia’s war against Ukraine does resemble colonial wars to restore colonial rule, this only means that this is how the Russian authorities viewed Russo-Ukrainian relations in the past. Ukraine’s colonial status in the Russian Empire/USSR is debatable.

Unlike in the countries of the Global South, decolonisation in Ukraine includes only the cultural sphere, does not aim to achieve economic sovereignty, and has no positive agenda. It calls only for destruction – the “cleansing” of the sacred Ukrainian land from enemy marks – monuments, toponymic objects, etc. During the war, state interference in historical research is increasing. The new law “On the Fundamentals of State Policy on National Memory of the Ukrainian People” has significantly expanded the powers of the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory, allowing it to interfere in the activities of self-government, education, and science, and to compile lists of prohibited and permitted historical figures and events used in toponymy.

An example of such destructive decolonisation is the activity of the public organisation “Decolonisation. Ukraine,” headed by the far-right activist Vadym Pozdnyakov. This organisation demands the destruction of monuments to Soviet soldiers, which are often erected on the burial sites of residents who died in World War II, and the exhumation and removal of the remains of Soviet soldiers from their places of honourable burial in the alleys of glory. They put pressure on residents and local authorities, and sometimes act as vigilantes, destroying Soviet memorials with sledgehammers. So-called “decolonisation raids” have taken place in Odesa, the Kharkiv region, and other regions. The vigilantes destroyed memorial plaques to heroes of the Soviet Union and Soviet orders on memorials. Even the writer Serhiy Zhadan was photographed with a broken Order of Victory. Residents sometimes try to resist the iconoclasts. The most famous conflict occurred in the village of Smykiv in the Lviv region, where the village head, Vitaliy Levitsky, covered the monument with his body; his grandfather’s name was on the monument. The authorities most often side with the vigilantes, and Levitsky was dismissed and the monument dismantled.

D.K. The war is having a significant impact on not only Russia and Ukraine, but also neighbouring countries. In what ways have memory policies in countries such as Moldova, Poland and the Baltic States been affected by the war? Have there been any changes to public history?

Barbara Törnqvist-Pleva called Central and Eastern Europe a separate region of memory, which is characterised by an “obsession with the past” and a “surfeit of memories.” Due to the long period without their own state, the nations of the region always feared losing their statehood. Probably no other language in the world uses the word “bezderzhavnist” (lack of statehood) as often as Ukrainian. This word is complicated to translate into other languages. It reflects the deep historical trauma of genocides and crimes during the period when the region lacked its own state.

The defensive reaction to this historical trauma was the concept of a vulnerable nation(including vulnerable culture, language, history, and memory), which is constantly under threat of prohibition and destruction. This means that any means are good and justified to protect one’s nation and statehood. Here, a neoliberal night-watchman state in the economic and social spheres coexists with harsh state intervention in the culture, history, language, and memory.

If in Western Europe the main tragedy is considered the tragedies of minorities (primarily the Holocaust), then in Central and Eastern Europe, it was the tragedy of the titular nations. The politics of memory in many countries in the region are based on concepts of genocide of the titular nation. Incidentally, Belarus and Russia have also joined in the invention of genocides in recent years. In Eastern Europe and the post-Soviet space, nations are still trying to erase “uncomfortable” memories.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has revived the threat of losing statehood in most countries in the region. Some countries see this threat in the remaining Soviet or Russian monuments and place names. Lithuanian historian Rasa Čepaitene argues that after February 2022, the third stage of dismantling Soviet monuments began, mainly affecting memorials to Red Army soldiers, which are being vandalised, painted in the colours of the Ukrainian flag, or demolished. In recent years, monuments to Soviet soldiers have been demolished or scheduled for demolition in Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Bulgaria, Poland, and the Czech Republic.

D.K. As a conclusion, I would like to ask a question about the challenges that historians are currently facing. What is it like to be a historian during wartime?

There is a saying that the first casualty of war is truth. War does not promote freedom of scholarly research or academic freedom. I agree with philosopher Mikhail Minakov that intellectuals need times of peace and republics, not revolutionary and warring states.

Discussions about the role of intellectuals during wartime have been going on for a very long time. The Russo-Ukrainian war and the Gaza war have brought this issue to the fore once again. Today, there are several life strategies that intellectuals, including historians, have chosen during wartime.

Some Ukrainian historians are serving in the army. Among them are people whom I greatly respect. In particular, Yevgen Luniak, professor of Nizhyn University, and Dr. Yaroslav Hyrych, a former lecturer at Hlukhiv University, as well as many professors from the Faculty of History of Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv. Incidentally, there are not as many volunteer historians in the Russian army. They mainly “fight” on the internet.

The second strategy is participation in the so-called “historical front,” that is, supporting one’s country by doing one’s daily work, raising money for the army, or promoting the history of Ukraine abroad. These historians often portray the history of Ukraine as a thousand-year conflict with Russia and glorify everyone who fought against Russia, including such controversial figures as Bandera. They are very sensitive to criticism of Ukrainian historical figures. Sometimes, scholarly research is replaced by propaganda. For example, this is how the concept of “Ruscism”, or “Rashism” emerged, referring to the ideology of Putin’s Russia, which consists of a mixture of Russian imperialism, Soviet communism, and German National Socialism.

I would call the third group “evaders.” They prefer to engage in “pure” history, just as they did before the war. Almost a century ago, Julien Benda wrote an essay, The Betrayal of the Intellectuals. In his opinion, the social function of intellectuals is to preserve eternal spiritual values for humanity and to act as a moral compass, often contrary to the “realism” of the masses. This approach is probably close to many historians-evaders who try not to comment on the war or to remain neutral.

I am more inclined towards the approach of Jürgen Habermas. He boldly and honestly criticised the government and at the same time gave advice on how to correct mistakes. I do not criticise the politics of history for the sake of criticism; I do so in order to help correct mistakes during the war.

D.K. Thank you very much for your answers.

Acknowledgement:

This interview was conducted as a part of the EUROPAST project, funded by the European Union under the WIDERA programme (Grant Agreement No. 101079466).

Denys Kiryukhin