Russian Art Bans: The Perspective of the Past

The war in Ukraine is a tragedy — the loss of life, freedom, and culture is heartbreaking. As I consider where we are in this conflict — and the myriad of ways in which this conflict could devolve — I have found myself thinking of some of the Russian artists of the past who found themselves in conflict with their own government. I write this in solidarity with all artists who consistently work to shine a light on inequities, the value of freedom and free speech, and who work to be ambassadors of peace.  

Watch here to see a performance of the Longmont Symphony Orchestra performing the Ukrainian National Anthem.

Long before Russian artists Anna Netrebko, Valerie Gergiev, and so many other Russian artists had their performances on international stages canceled due to the actions of the Kremlin, there existed an earlier generation of Russian artists who were forced to navigate artistic expression under hostile regimes. 

I wanted to look back at three great Russian artists, composer Dmitri Shostakovich, cellist & conductor Mstislav Rostropovich, and poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko to see what I could glean from their lives, trials, and tribulations. All three of these artists came into close association — willingly or unwillingly — with the political elite of their country, and each had their foreign travels curtailed, being forced to remain in Russia. However, each of these artists had a different response to the restrictions placed upon their artistic freedom.

Mstislav Rostropovich

Cellist Mstislav Rostropovich had long advocated for art without borders, freedom of speech, and democratic values. One of the first examples of his fearlessness occurred in 1948 when he was a student at the Moscow Conservatory. In response to the February 1948 decree on so-called 'formalist' composers, which aimed directly at his teacher Dmitri Shostakovich (who was subsequently dismissed from his professorships in Leningrad and Moscow), the 21-year-old student cellist dropped out of the conservatory in protest. 

Several years later, on August 21, 1968, the Soviet Union initiated an invasion of Czechoslovakia. That evening, Rostropovich was slated to perform as cello soloist at The Proms in London with the Soviet State Symphony Orchestra. Heckling and demonstrations preceded the performance. However, following the performance of the - fortuitously programmed - Czech composer Antonín Dvořák's Cello Concerto in B minor, Rostropovich took the Czech composer's score, waving it over his head as a gesture of solidarity with the Czech people and the city of Prague. The orchestra and soloist were then cheered wildly by the Proms audience.

Three years later, Rostropovich sheltered a Nobel prize-winning Russian novelist in his home whose critical writings on communism left him with nowhere else to go. His friendship with this author and his support for other dissidents led Rostropovich to be officially disgraced in the early 1970s. As a result, restrictions were placed on the great cellist and conductor from foreign touring. Furthermore, the government curtailed his concert appearances in the Soviet Union, which eventually led Rostropovich to leave the Soviet Union with his wife and two daughters in 1974, settling in the United States. At this point, the soviet union banned him from touring his homeland with foreign orchestras. He would not return to the Soviet Union until 1990.

As Rostropovich was approaching his 80th birthday, his health began to decline. Russian President Vladimir Putin visited Rostropovich to discuss details of a celebration that the Kremlin was planning for Rostropovich's 80th birthday. Later, President Putin visited Rostropovich in the hospital, and On March 27, 2007, Putin issued a statement praising Rostropovich. Rostropovich died on April 27, 2007. The following day, thousands of mourners, including Vladimir Putin, bade farewell to the great cellist, conductor, and humanitarian. 

Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko, while perhaps the least known name to a Western audience of the three Russian artists looked at here, is considered among scholars as the greatest Soviet writer of his generation.

Following the death of Stalin in 1953, the Soviet Union experienced a thawing of repression and censorship. During this time, Yevtushenko began to make a name for himself. In 1961, he wrote what would become his most famous poem, Babi Yar. In this poem, Yevtushenko denounced the Soviet distortion of historical facts regarding the Nazi massacre of the Jewish population of Kyiv in September 1941. The poem was later set to music by Dmitri Shostakovich in his Thirteenth Symphony, subtitled Babi Yar.

Yevtushenko had achieved a sort of "rock star" status in Soviet Russia and Europe, and in 1963, a Parisian newspaper printed part of his autobiography. The USSR ordered him to return from Paris; Yevtushenko was accused of treason and was no longer allowed to travel beyond the walls of the Soviet Union. That same year, he was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature for his poem "Babi Yar."

Yevtushenko struck a balance between criticism of the Soviet regime and his political stances that somehow kept him in the good graces of the authorities. He co-signed a letter against the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 — the type of thing being asked for by modern-day concert producers of their Russian artists. Despite this, many other Soviet-era literary influencers accused Yevtushenko of being two-faced: they argued that Yevtushenko's criticism was often only that which had been sanctioned by the Kremlin — all the while receiving adulation for being a fearless voice of dissent. 

So, what was it: Was he a fearless dissident? Or was he accommodating a dictatorship? Perhaps the answer lies in a more nuanced view: I submit that he was creating the space for reforms for his fellow citizens while exhibiting courage within the context of being a citizen of a dangerous and repressive regime. 

Dmitri Shostakovich

Shostakovich had a fraught and complex relationship with the Soviet authorities. While not Jewish himself, he had tremendous empathy for the Jewish people, a sentiment not universally felt in Soviet Russia. On the contrary, there were (and even remains today) anti-Western sentiments and a state-sanctioned anti-Semitism that was pervasive throughout Russia at the time. Shostakovich loathed anti-Semitism and, in several compositions, would add Jewish klezmer-sounding music to evoke their plight. 

Of his 13th Symphony "Babi Yar," which used texts taken from Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Shostakovich said:

… we must never forget about the dangers of anti-Semitism and keep reminding others of it, because the infection is still alive and who knows if it will ever disappear. That's why I was overjoyed when I read Yevtushenko's "Babi Yar"; the poem has astounded me. It astounded thousands of people. Many had heard about Babi Yar, but it took Yevtushenko's poem to make them aware of it. They tried to destroy the memory of Babi Yar... But after Yevtushenko's poem it became clear that it would never be forgotten. That is the power of art… Art destroys silence.

By the time Shostakovich had completed the first movement of his 13th Symphony “Babi Yar”on March 27, 1962, Yevtushenko was now considered a serious political liability. The authorities tried to scare off everyone from Yevtushenko, Shostakovich, and the world premiere of the symphony. The soloist and conductor who were to premiere the work withdrew in fear. The cameras that were to televise the concert were dismantled prior to the performance, and the chorus threatened to walk out from fear of reprisals. A speech by Yevtushenko about the importance of art kept them from walking out. 

On December 18, 1962, the premiere was to a packed theatre — except for the empty government box — and was hugely successful. However, despite the initial success of the work, the symphony was rarely performed and became effectively banned. It was through the great cellist and conductor, Mstislav Rostropovich, that a score was smuggled to the West. The work was premiered and recorded in 1970 by the great musicians of the Philadelphia Orchestra and Eugene Ormandy.

There are key points that I take about from this look at Russian artists of the past:

It is unthinkable to any of us to view the Kremlin's invasion of Ukraine as justified. Certainly, disinformation in Russia is as strong as it ever was and is confusing for their population. I can understand this now because, due to disinformation in the United States, we now have deeply patriotic Americans who honestly believe that former President Donald Trump won the 2020 election. I hope that we don't confuse the actions of those perpetrating disinformation with the good people of a nation. 

And I cannot help but wonder: Had the January 6 attack on the capitol been successful in stopping the certification of the Electoral Colleges results, thus stopping the formal count and transfer of power, would arts organizations have started demanding pledges of allegiances of American artists one way or another before performing in their venues? Demanding that individuals pledge their allegiances under threat of losing their jobs, lives, or safety echoes McCarthyism. Is it fair that we demand this of foreign artists living under authoritarian rule? 

Ultimately, my thoughts are with the people of Ukraine who are living under stress the likes of which I cannot conceive. But for the people of Russia who, like Rostropovich, Yevtushenko, and Shostakovich, are working to create the culture of free speech, artistic freedom, and democratic values, I continue to feel gratitude. My faith is strong that music will continue to play a vital role in the cross-cultural exchange of ideas among nations and that our artists, musicians, and poets will be the ambassadors of peace that is so desperately needed in these times.