Vasyl Shkliar: The Most Powerful Weapon Is Language. That's Why the Occupier Did Not Take Northern Luhansk, Where the Villages Are Ukrainian-Speaking

Vasyl Shkliar: The Most Powerful Weapon Is Language. That's Why the Occupier Did Not Take Northern Luhansk, Where the Villages Are Ukrainian-Speaking

On why Vasyl Shkliar more easily “survived” the annexation of Crimea and what his new book will be about, in a conversation with Glavcom.

Vasyl Shkliar is one of the most famous contemporary Ukrainian writers. A few years ago his novel Black Raven, devoted to the struggle of the Kholodnyi Yar insurgents in the 20-era of the last century, caused an explosion on the domestic book market. In 2011 he became a laureate of the Taras Shevchenko National Prize of Ukraine, but refused to accept it in protest against the policies of then-Minister of Education and Science Dmytro Tabachnyk. Last autumn Shkliar’s historical novel Marusia was published, which also became a bestseller. And today the writer has toured almost all of Ukraine with his new book Black Sun.

Recently Shkliar joined the political council of the party Ukrop, which is associated with the team of businessman Ihor Kolomoyskyi. This is not Shkliar’s first foray into high politics. In 2012 he ran in a single-member district in Halychyna, coming in only third. Today the writer avoids questions about his political ambitions.

On why Vasyl Shkliar more easily “survived” the annexation of Crimea and what his new book will be about, in a conversation with Glavcom.

Mr. Vasyl, with what feelings did you spend the 2015 year?

My feelings were little different from those of most Ukrainians. It was a year of constant anxiety because of the war in the East, a year of hopelessly awaiting positive changes in the state, a year of yet another disappointments. It seems the authorities, with cold calculation, keep testing the patience reserves of citizens again and again. Perhaps only the war with Russia is the last obstacle to a new civic explosion.

I traveled with presentations of the new book Black Sun to many cities—from Kyiv to Mariupol, from Zaporizhzhia and Kirovohrad to Lviv and Ivano-Frankivsk, from Ternopil to Odesa—and again I saw the now-familiar despair. The apotheosis of disappointment was the “storm in a glass of water” at the highest level of power, where we saw a clique of outsiders with a foreign language, foreign thinking, and imported foul language.

Are you talking about the incident at the National Reform Council?

Yes. In general, we knew our elite was like that, but we didn’t know they aren’t in the least ashamed of it. After such a spectacle, public blows to the head and hurling insults from the podium as the last argument in proving the truth become entirely understandable. There is no talk of any morality here, let alone a code of honor. The main discussion boils down to how much to raise corrupt officials’ salaries so they stop stealing.

“This war is destined to be won by Ukrainians”

And if we speak of positives?

Then look to the modern Ukrainian soldier, look at the volunteer, at those people who hold Ukraine together in the hour of its greatest trials. Today discussions are underway in all our towns and villages about which monuments to erect in place of the toppled Lenin. To please everyone, so that the new symbol offends no one. Meanwhile the heroes of Black Sun, fighters of the Azov regiment, single-handedly install a monumental sculpture of Sviatoslav the Brave in the center of Mariupol. This monument was created by the father of my main character in Black Sun, whose call sign is Artist. He is the fighter who insisted that Ukrainian plays be performed in the Mariupol Russian Drama Theater. When asked why Sviatoslav should stand on Freedom Square in Mariupol, he replied that this prince would have ignored not only the Minsk agreements but would have found even the Normandy format ridiculous.

Meanwhile local authorities turned up their noses, outraged that everything was being done behind their backs. But I think they are upset not because the monument was erected to Sviatoslav, but because they want the construction of a monument to be allocated, say, twenty million from the budget, of which eighteen can be skimmed off. I’m not talking about the people of Mariupol, but about a general tendency.

What world and Ukrainian events would you highlight in the past year?

It was a year of particular drama. It showed that our world is quite fragile, and no country in it can feel completely secure. The domestic war with Russia sharpened our sight, and we saw many things we previously did not pay attention to. We saw what is essentially a world war—perhaps not full-scale, but in its hybrid manifestations. And it seems that this war is destined to be won by Ukrainians.

Among global events I would also note the Paris tragedy, Turkey’s “worthy dialogue” with Russia, and of course the war with ISIS, which also has traits of a world war, since many states’ interests converge there.

What stands out among Ukrainian events? The proud stance of Nadiya Savchenko under Moscow’s guard. Every liberation of a Ukrainian soldier from captivity is an event. Among the positives is also the belated process of decommunization, above all the renaming of populated places and streets. Among cultural events—major tours across Ukraine by our cult bands Kozak System, Tin Sontsia, and the Telnuk sisters. It’s a pity that sterile Ukrainian television does not promote these artists, since anything above Russian pop is “not their format.”

photo: Stanislav Hruzdev, Glavcom

Last year all funds allocated to culture were supposed to go to official ceremonies or commemorative dates, and the rest only to events that assist the conduct of the ATO. That’s what Minister Vyacheslav Kyrylenko promised. What do you think of such initiatives?

If I’m not mistaken, Ukrainian cinema will still be funded a bit. It’s hard for me to speak about the Ministry of Culture’s initiatives because I have no idea of its capabilities. I know there’s hardly any money there, that we don’t have our Winston Churchill to ask the budget managers: “Guys, what are we fighting for?” I also know the ministry buys books for libraries, including mine. As for assessments, I’ve never heard paeans to this institution, even when it was headed by a moral authority like Ivan Dziuba. Obviously the issue isn’t only about personalities.

Do you, as a writer, feel state support?

I belong to those fortunate people who do not need state support. I try to support my state as much as I can. The state—as a political-legal factor uniting the nation, not as a caste of higher officials whom we hire to serve us.

Then why do successful creative people go into politics?

At the dawn of our independence Ukraine did not have professional politicians. We had an authoritative cohort of dissidents who suffered the national idea behind barbed wire. Then, to strengthen the national-democratic wing, more than a dozen writers ran for the first convocation of parliament. They fulfilled their mission; their position and authority undoubtedly played a significant role in declaring an independent state. Later, when money rather than ideas began to dominate Ukrainian politics, people of the arts became truly out of place, sometimes even ridiculous. Some became like everyone else; others were pushed away even after being elected to parliament, as happened with Nina Matviienko, Ruslana, or Vakarchuk.

Do contemporary artists have influence on politics and politicians?

That influence is minimal. And I doubt there is a country where art significantly influences politics; art has other tasks. We don’t even hear the voice of creative unions because they exist on crumbs from the budget. Apparently a serious artist is still a lone wolf who has his own path and his own personal war.

“For me Crimea was never Ukrainian”

Ukrainian art did not reach Donbas and Crimea. That’s why the provocations that caused the catastrophe became possible there. Do you agree?

Yes, of course. Where a nation lacks its own cultural and informational space, a favorable field for the invader forms. But the main factor here is, of course, language—Ukrainian spirit. This factor is somehow hushed amid propaganda of “Russian-speaking patriotism,” and no one emphasizes that the occupier did not go into northern Luhansk. He did not go there because the villages there are Ukrainian-speaking. From this follows the conclusion: the most powerful weapon of Ukrainians is their language. Language is a shield, it is the highest border wall that no aggressor in the modern world can overcome.

I find it easier to endure the loss of Crimea because for me it was never Ukrainian. I measure my homeland by territory of spirit, by my own space. Perhaps Crimea will one day separate from Russia, but it will not become Ukrainian. I would like it to become the Crimean Tatar Republic, because that people have no other land.

And what about Donbas? Is there a path for it back to Ukraine? In one interview you said Donbas for Ukraine is like a suitcase without a handle. Have your views changed in the last two years?

Regarding Donbas, we will return to the Ukrainian fold those territories where the majority feel a longing for Ukraine. And more than that we do not need. If we aim for more, we could annex all of Russia. It would agree, even agree to move the capital to Kyiv. Only then nothing would remain of us.

So how to convince the next Ukrainian government that funding culture should be viewed in the context of the country’s national security?

Who do you want to convince? Those at the highest level who hold meetings in the same language and with the same swearing as the separatists? Those who, during the war, grin at Veseliy Kvartal [Evening Quarter]? Or the parliament that musters up to seventy votes to support national culture? Enough, it’s sad to speak further.

Oksana Zabuzhko told Glavcom in an interview that Ukrainians only during the heat of the war in Donbas suddenly “discovered” that Donbas, it turns out, has many poets. Do you agree that the presence of Luhansk or Donetsk artists in the all-Ukrainian cultural process could have “dismantled” the border between two Ukraines?

No, writers from Donbas were present in the all-Ukrainian literary process. Vasyl Holoborodko from Luhansk is a poet of world level. And Ivan Svitlychnyi! Moreover, Donbas gave us many notable nationalist thinkers. These include the writer and founder of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group Mykola Rudenko, Oleksa Tyhy, Ivan Dziuba, Anatolii Lupynis… But in Donbas we did not sharpen our blade on these names, did not convince compatriots that patriotic ideas came from them. Our enemies took up those people. And so far they have achieved their aims.

“Under Yanukovych the most votes were cast in those regions where there were the fewest libraries”

There’s an opinion that residents of Crimea and eastern regions are not very interested in literature, especially Ukrainian, and especially contemporary Ukrainian. You have been there repeatedly. Which contemporary Ukrainian writers are most read in Donbas?

Readers’ tastes differ little across Ukraine. But the truth is that, for example, Halychyna reads far more than Crimeans or Donbas residents. Once the Kapranov brothers made a kind of scientific discovery. They researched that during presidential elections the most votes for Yanukovych were in areas with the fewest libraries. The fewer the libraries, the more votes for the regional candidate. And once I asked a young Ukrainian-speaking young man from Donetsk: “How did you grow up like this in that Russified city?” He answered: “When other parents brought home vodka, my father brought me books.”

What role do you see for writers in the country’s current situation? What can and should they do?

They should do what they do. Many go East—to military units or to meetings with readers. Among our soldiers are many intellectuals and lovers of literature, and such meetings are always welcome by them. Writer Borys Humeniuk volunteered for the OUN battalion and wrote an excellent collection of poems, Poems from the War. This is essentially the main role of the writer at all times—to write well.

Who do you see as the number one writer in Ukraine today?

Once Pavlo Tychyna wrote: “Society that is important to me—am I the first poet or the last?” Literature is not sport; competition is unnecessary. Each writer has his own space that does not overlap with anyone else’s.

Whom do you read from contemporary Ukrainian literature?

I try to follow everyone—from Taras Prokhasky in Ivano-Frankivsk to Dmytro Bilyi in Donetsk—and I rejoice at every success. The more interesting authors we have, the stronger I feel. A writer is largely shaped by his environment.

What are you working on now? Will your next book be about Maidan or the war?

There will be a war. With the same enemy, but a bit earlier. It will be a novel about the Ukrainian Insurgent Army.

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