UKR-TAZ

A new issue of the London Ukrainian Review examines culture as a matter of national security in the context of the Russo-Ukrainian war. The Review, which is an open-access publication of the Ukrainian Institute London partnering with the Vienna-based Institute for Human Sciences (IWM), Academic Studies Press, and INDEX: Institute for Documentation and Exchange, has been publishing excellent work since 2021. Editor-in-chief Sasha Dovzhyk explains that this issue “highlight[s] the voices of cultural figures who defend Ukraine with arms” and “examines culture as a tool of Russia’s imperialist expansion, all the while insisting on a bond between cultural familiarity and political solidarity.”

While some on the left continue to take the old Marxist view that a concern for Ukrainian culture and language is a purely liberal or “bourgeois nationalist” interest (I examined this in the writing of Volodymyr Ishchenko some time ago), authors of this issue take the opposite view, which is well articulated by University College London’s Uilleam Blacker in “Defensive Wall: Why Ukraine’s Culture is Everyone’s Fight.” Blacker writes:

Had the long history of Russian colonial violence against Ukraine been better understood by a public familiar with the canon of Ukrainian culture, Ukraine and Crimea might not have been perceived by so many in the West as obscure parts of Russia’s ‘backyard’ in 2014. Ukraine, of course, is not alone in this sense: how different might our reactions to events in Gaza or Sudan be if we all read novels by Palestinian and Sudanese writers in our schools and universities?

Alongside wartime poetry and prose (in translation) and arguments about the politics of concert halls and misplaced Russophilia, the issue includes a richly insightful conversation between historian Olesya Khromeychuk and author and propaganda analyst Peter Pomerantsev. Another piece, Maria Sonevytsky’s “Everyday Amulets,” documents how displaced communities maintain cultural memory through transported objects — specifically, in this case, through house keys, which “become symbols of refusal to consent to elimination across contexts of displacement: Crimean Tatars deported by Stalin in 1944, Palestinians displaced in 1948, and Ukrainians fleeing Russian occupation since 2014.”

The entire issue can be read here.

In “How Fascist is Putinism?“, German political scientist and veteran Ukraine watcher Andreas Umland thoroughly examines and assesses the arguments and counter-arguments for considering Putinism to be a form of fascism. If there’s a single scholarly article to recommend on this topic, it is probably this one.

Umland shows that while it’s still quite possible to argue that Putinism is not fascism, this requires either a rather strict definition of what fascism is (and an eagerness to highlight the ways it still fails that definition), or a nuanced empirical eye that sees Putinism not as one thing but a hodgepodge, and therefore not only fascist. To argue that it is not fascist at all, however, seems to be stretching credulity. The answer is, at best, a matter of degree.

Among his conclusions:

“Russia’s armed forces and occupational administration in Ukraine behave, especially since 2022, in a manifestly terroristic, genocidal, ecocidal, and sometimes even sadist manner. Against this dreadful background, it seems strange to insist that Russia’s policies and the ideas behind them are clearly, absolutely and unquestionably non-fascist.”

On the other hand,

“An exclusive explanation of Russia’s motivation for its policies in Ukraine and elsewhere with ultra-nationalist maximalism limits understanding of the motivations behind the so-called ‘Special Military Operation’ in Ukraine. [. . .] The initial impulse for the full-scale invasion was, nevertheless, less growing ultra-nationalist fanaticism than misinformed power-political cynicism within Putin’s regime.”

More to the point, however:

“The longer and the more successful Russia’s war against Ukraine is, the more prominent and influential fascist Russian actors, ideas and networks will become in Russia as well as beyond.”

Umland’s article is based on a chapter in Russia and Modern Fascism: New Perspectives on the Kremlin’s War Against Ukraine, edited by Ian Garner and Taras Kuzio (ibidem Press, September 2025, ISBN 9783838220154, 350pp, paperback, $40.00).

It can be read in its entirety here.

Historian and left-wing activist Vladyslav Starodubtsev is becoming a prominent spokesperson for Ukraine’s “left-republican tradition,” a tradition he identifies with some of the leaders of Ukraine’s national awakening in the late 1800s, and with those that led the efforts to create a social-democratic Ukrainian state in the years 1917 through about 1922 or so, a period that ended with the consolidation of Soviet control over Ukraine.

Suzi Weissman recently interviewed Starodubtsev for Jacobin Radio, and the two spent more time — almost an hour — discussing the 1917-1922 years than most people have ever spent thinking about those years at all, let alone what they looked like in Ukraine. As the web site puts it, the interview examines “the Ukrainian People’s Republic of 1917-1923, born in the revolutionary upheavals of 1905, WWI, and the February 1917 Russian Revolution. Built on grassroots power from peasants, workers, soldiers, and cooperatives, the Ukrainian People’s Republic legislated sweeping land reform, gender equality, national-personal autonomy for ethnic minorities, and a cooperative economy. It did not last.”

In an opinion piece published a few days ago in Canada’s Globe and Mail newspaper (“The Ukraine emergency is far from over – because Donald Trump is the emergency,” August 21, 2025), popular center-right columnist Andrew Coyne writes about the “three possible explanations for Mr. Trump’s seeming capture by Mr. Putin.” (Coyne is the journalist whose writing following the re-election of Donald Trump made the rounds widely for its prescient prognostication of what was to come.)

The three “possible explanations” closely parallel the three hypotheses that I had written about last week, except that they fail to mention the one I spent much of that article discussing.

My first two hypotheses, which I called the “conspiratorial” (that Putin “has something on him,” in Coyne’s words) and the “psychoanalytical” (that Trump’s particular form of pathological narcissism lends him to looking up to certain kinds of men) are covered by Coyne, though the latter becomes a little vague: Coyne writes that, in this rendition, Trump

has simply been rolled by him, over and over – whether because he has some sort of inexplicable man-crush on him, or because of Mr. Putin’s adroit application of flattery to the suppurating wounds of Mr. Trump’s ego, or because of Mr. Trump’s peculiar susceptibility to the kind of simple-minded, lumpen-left ‘when you think about it, the West are really the bad guys’ arguments favoured by your stoner roommate in first year.

Coyne’s third explanation, however, merely repeats a variation of the second: “that Mr. Trump just happens to agree with him. Mr. Putin is a dictator. Mr. Trump would like to be one.” Coyne misses the all-important “realist” explanation I had written about, which is rooted in a particular constellation of political-economic relations, especially those of fossil fuels.

Now, Rolling Stone’s star writer on these topics, Antonia Juhasz, has penned a piece that provides many more details to support the contention that the Putin-Trump meeting in Alaska was largely about joint fossil fuel dealmaking (“Inside Putin’s Fossil-Fueled Victory Lap in Alaska,“ August 23, 2025).

As Juhasz puts it,

Maksym Eristavi’s Russian Colonialism 101 is an effectively written, sprightly illustrated romp through the last few centuries of Russian colonialism, the last of the undeconstructed European colonialisms still standing. His Russian Colonialism 101 substack continues Eristavi’s work in deconstructing that colonialism in all its forms.

In “david: and why not platforming russian culture is justice,” Eristavi writes evocatively about Ukrainian anarchist artist David Chichkan, his illustrated Ukrainian Code on Administrative Offences, so-called “cancel culture,” and Western imperialist complicity.

A few quotes:

There are three main hypotheses explaining Donald Trump’s eagerness to please Vladimir Putin.

The first is “conspiratorial”: that Putin has something over Trump, related perhaps to the Steele dossier, Trump’s real estate shenanigans, the KGB’s long-term efforts to cultivate Trump as a “Russian asset,” or maybe even the Epstein files (Trump and Putin do, after all, connect within the ranks of the uber-rich masculinist jet set, where sexist pedophilia seems readily appeasable).

The second is psychoanalytical: that Trump is a pathological narcissist with a fragile father-damaged ego, and that he only looks up to other, more “successfully” imperial father figures. Putin is one of the few who fit his criteria.

The third is “realist,” which acknowledges that there are benefits, from Trump’s perspective, to a cozier relationship with Russia. Allying with Russia could, for instance, steer the latter away from China. More importantly, and more specifically these days, is that Russia is a fossil fuel superpower — and Trump’s authority is also reliant on a perpetuation of the global power of fossil fuels. Rehabilitating Putin will enable Trump to “make deals” around Russia’s only assets, which are its oil and gas deposits. When other prices are rising all around Trump, he could at least keep gas prices down by dealing directly with Putin.

The Silicon Curtain podcast — which describes itself as “a channel about propaganda, digital disinformation, politics, corruption, hybrid warfare, weaponised conspiracy theories, social echo chambers and digital dystopias” — is an excellent place to hear astute analyses of all things Russia. Their last few episodes, including “Did the Global Media Fall for a Giant Geopolitical Con?“, “Trump’s Surrender to Putin is Far Worse than Most People Realize,” and “Oil was Greasing the Gears of War, Not Peace at the Alaska Summit” — have covered various angles of the Trump-Putin meeting in Alaska. The last is particularly insightful about the fossil-fuel dimensions of the meeting.

A few quotes:

Ukraine may be the only country in the world where black-and-red flags can signify either anarcho-syndicalism — which they mostly do in the photos below, from David Chichkan’s funeral ceremony in Kyïv yesterday — or the right-wing nationalism associated with the world war two era OUN and UPA partisan armies. (Those armies and their followers today are commonly known as “Banderites” in honor of ultranationalist leader Stepan Bandera, who’s become a symbol of all things anti-Russian, though the flag long pre-dates Bandera and has been used well beyond the paramilitary legacy associated with him.)

In some cases they can even be both, as with Ukraine’s national anarchists or anarcho-nationalists. (On anarchism and the Russo-Ukrainian war, see here, here, here, and here.) Sometimes, the “Banderite” flag features red over black horizontal bands, while the anarchist flag features the two in diagonal bands, but that’s not always the case.

Irrespectively, the loss of anarchist artist David Chichkan is felt by many, and his funeral ceremonies featured many red-and-black flags alongside others. Posting about yesterday’s ceremony, Nataliya Gumenyuk, co-founder of Hromadske independent media, the Public Interest Journalism Lab, and The Reckoning Project, wrote [my translation]: