Historians Seeking Answers after the Russian Invasion of Ukraine about the Soviet legacy: “Radianske” vs. “Sovietske”?

This article is dedicated to Ukrainian historian-intellectuals in the context of the Russian-Ukrainian war. In this work, I seek to demonstrate how the wartime context shapes historians’ scholarly perspectives on the Soviet legacy and influences changes in knowledge production and historical interpretation. Additionally, I emphasize the necessity of rethinking the Soviet past through discussions among scholars whose theoretical perspectives differ but who share a common goal: challenging the Russian interpretation of Ukraine’s history. This text is about significant human experiences and mutual respect in times of war.

The article was developed during the course “Intellectual Debates in Modern Ukrainian History and Contemporary Public Sphere” at the Invisible University for Ukraine and prepared for publication in collaboration with Kateryna Osypchuk (CEU) and Nataliia Shuliakova (Yale University). The article was supported by the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD). Cover photograph by Danylo Antoniuk, December 22, 2024.

Introduction and My Research Bias

This paper discusses Ukrainian historians, including myself, and the Soviet legacy. It aims to integrate diverse research perspectives into a cohesive text, focusing on the representation of the Soviet legacy in Ukrainian public discourse. My research is based on oral history as the primary field of study. This approach grants epistemological precedence to subjective experience as a legitimate source of historical knowledge. Thus, the reader perceives subjectivity not as a flaw but as a methodological feature that provides access to individual experience/memory and the dynamics of knowledge production in the context of war. As a result, working on this study has become one of the most emotional endeavours of my academic experience. However, this has also become a highly significant text. Thus, this work is a text not only about attitudes toward the Soviet legacy but also about historians during the Russo-Ukrainian War. It considers historians not only as researchers but also as individuals with their own experiences and emotions. 

During the course “Intellectual Debates in Modern Ukrainian History and Contemporary Public Sphere,” I extensively discussed this text with my mentors. In the initial drafts of this text, my references to Russia were written in lowercase as a means of expressing a negative attitude toward Russians who support Vladimir Putin’s actions and the war in Ukraine. Ultimately, the writing of this text coincided with ongoing Ukrainian losses at the front, including the losses among historians.¹ However, after discussions, I decided to revise this approach and write “Russia” with a capital letter, as required by the conventions of academic writing. Some may call this intention propagandistic. I am not ready to either refute or agree. I can only share my experience, present the material from oral history sources in the text, and leave the judgment to the reader.

I am a student-historian, born in the city of Yeysk in the Krasnodar Krai of Russia. Incidentally, Russian troops launched drones from Yeysk to destroy Ukrainian infrastructure, and the local residents are well aware of this.² I grew up in the city of Izyum (Kharkiv region, Ukraine), which was occupied by Russian troops for half a year (March 2022–September 2022) and whose school was bombed by Russian shells (March 2022). I have been studying at a Ukrainian university for two years during mass Russian bombings, without electricity and often without a phone or internet connection. My Ukrainian mother and stepfather serve in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, while my father and other relatives from Kuban (Krasnodar Krai, Russian Federation) support Russian aggression against Ukraine and insist that ‘Ukrainians are Nazis’.

By outlining my experience, I aim to demonstrate how perceptions of intellectual discussion are shaped by political beliefs and historical agency.³ My research integrates multiple perspectives while acknowledging inherent subjectivity. Interviews with Ukrainian historians reveal diverse interpretations of the Soviet past, shaped by both personal and scholarly contexts. I was interested in the diverse experiences of the chosen researchers: involvement in the Ukrainian feminist movement, service in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, teaching/learning experiences abroad and in Ukraine, parenthood, and other identification settings. I was interested in talking to researchers who view Ukrainian history of the 20th century differently, particularly regarding gender issues, nationalism, or everyday life during the Soviet era. This combination of viewpoints allowed for showing different views on the Soviet past while demonstrating shared political beliefs in the context of the Russian-Ukrainian war.

I will briefly introduce the respondents-historians in the order of the interviews I conducted. First, I recorded a conversation with Ivan Patrylyak—a researcher of the Ukrainian nationalist movement. Next, I spoke with Oksana Klymenko—a researcher of memory politics in the USSR and of everyday life in the interwar period. In the third interview, I had a conversation with Oksana Kis—a scholar on women’s and gender issues in Ukrainian history. In the fourth interview, I recorded a conversation with Natalia Shlikhta—a researcher of church history in the Soviet state and Soviet society. Finally, I spoke with Olha Koliastruk, a researcher of the Soviet press and the head of the Vinnytsia Search and Publishing Agency “Books of Memory of Ukraine.” 

I structure my analysis around the following key sections: the objectivity of history, research challenges following the full-scale invasion, memories of the Soviet past, the interpretation of the Soviet legacy in public space, the marking of Soviet heritage, and “new” approaches to studying the Soviet past. These sections intersect with one another, yet this division allows for the researchers’ insights into their work to be heard. It also provides an understanding of the contested nature of attitudes toward the Soviet past in the context of the Russo-Ukrainian war. Such a thematic separation is part of my narration and serves as a “key” to addressing my research question: how historians understand the Soviet legacy in the context of war.

Different Theoretical Frameworks: Two Sides of the Same Coin

The topic of the Soviet legacy is highly relevant in the Ukrainian public sphere.  In the context of Ukraine’s decommunization policy, scholars and policymakers have brought the issue of confronting the communist past to the forefront of public and academic discourse. Historians increasingly adopt postcolonial approaches to the study of Ukrainian history, particularly when analyzing the Soviet era. At the same time, scholars continue to debate the applicability of decolonial versus anti-colonial frameworks.

However, it should be noted that among Ukrainian intellectuals, the search for a terminological apparatus regarding the description of the Soviet past gained momentum even before the adoption of the decommunization law in 2015.⁴ For example, the debate over the terminology of the Soviet legacy has intensified. Here, we should refer to the peculiarities of the Ukrainian language. Ukrainian intellectuals talked about two different labels of this past: “radianske” (a Ukrainian translation of the Russian word “советское”) versus “sovitske/sovietske” (a Ukrainian transliteration of the Russian word “советское”). In the following, I use the definitions of Soviet legacy following the options outlined and with the corresponding connotations: “radianske” or “sovietske.”

After the start of the Russian-Ukrainian war, these definitional contradictions intensified. The postcolonial perspective received an additional impetus in 2014 with the start of the Russian-Ukrainian war and became much more popular after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022.⁵ Speaking of these postcolonial trends, Olena Palko, researcher of the political and cultural history of Ukraine in the 20th century, suggested considering postcolonial processes in the Ukrainian public space through the use of the three D’s: decommunization (2015), derussification (2022), decolonization (2022).⁶

The Ukrainian intellectual Mykola Riabchuk proposed examining Ukraine’s past primarily through the lens of a modified psychoanalytic approach, drawing on Frantz Fanon’s method to study the colonial experience. The distinctions between colonizers and the colonized were not racial in nature.⁷ The researcher emphasized that a typically colonial situation had taken shape in Ukraine. The Indigenous population was relegated to the role of culturally denigrated and economically marginalized inhabitants of a rural “Third World,” while Russians assumed the role of bearers of a “superior world” civilization, representing a “more cultured,” wealthier, and more developed “First World.”⁸

German scholar Ulrich Schmid wrote that Ukraine’s decolonial policy portrays it as a victim of both the Soviet and Nazi regimes. However, in Schmid’s opinion, Ukraine consciously ignores the fact that the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic could not be considered a “colonized” country, as it was on par with the Soviet Union and Soviet Belarus from the founding of the UN.⁹ Therefore, Schmid argued that postcolonial theory should be applied more cautiously to the study of Ukrainian history and that new perspectives should be sought. He proposed considering the “zone of cultural influence” perspective, which is defined not only by colonial policy but also by various models of coexistence of Ukrainians and Russians in the Russian Empire and later in the USSR.¹⁰

In my research, I avoid articulating my position on the conceptual frameworks and approaches of the respondent researchers. Since the focus is not on the theoretical lens, my primary aim is to comprehend the respondents and emphasize commonalities and differences despite the variation in theoretical perspectives. Different theoretical frameworks enable a deeper exploration of dimensions of history—much like two sides of the same coin. However, I focus more on the narration of the researcher-respondents about the past and history.

The “Objectivity” of History

I begin my analysis by outlining the concept of “objectivity” in history to illustrate how perceptions of certain events can shift in response to societal circumstances, thereby influencing understandings of objectivity itself. The pursuit of “objectivity” has been considered a fundamental principle of scholarly research, as it implies an “unbiased understanding of phenomena and facts” to present genuine, non-manipulative knowledge. However, scholarly knowledge is inherently shaped by the researcher’s worldview, making it never entirely objective. Therefore, the pursuit of research objectivity often employs the idea of “striving to be objective.” Yet, even this remains (self-)deceptive. The French historian François Bédarida notably emphasized that historians communicate in a language already infused with value judgments. They select their research topics, curate their data, highlight specific sources and facts, and construct a hierarchy of explanatory factors, all shaped by their system of values.¹¹ This resonates with the argument of historian Oksana Kis. During our interview, she noted that researcher objectivity is unattainable, especially in times of war, when biases become even more pronounced:

Therefore, in this study, I try to avoid the notion of “striving for objectivity.” However, I seek to apply a critical perspective to what is heard and written. Oksana Kis emphasized that a crucial “standard” of historical scholarship is the critical approach of historians and adherence to academic integrity. Furthermore, the historian added that the war intensifies the requirement for researchers to delineate their political affiliations:

I think that in the context of the Ukrainian-Russian war, each of us as a citizen is compelled to make a choice regarding our stance. This national identity and civic choice force us to incorporate our identity into our academic approaches and practices. Thus, I believe the war does not impose this demand; it merely brings it to the forefront. The notion that history can be neutral and objective becomes evidently absurd when faced with the existential challenge confronting our nation.¹²

Natalia Shlikhta also emphasized that the war has activated reflections on the possibility or impossibility of history. She noted that political and military events necessitate understanding the conditions of such actions. However, Natalia Shlikhta also called for a more critical approach to the policy of actively condemning all Soviet everyday life, arguing that haste hinders an unemotional analysis of the past and the understanding of the causal relationships of various events.¹³

From these excerpts, it becomes evident that scholars acknowledge the impossibility of being entirely objective. However, they simultaneously strive to maintain a critical stance toward sources as they analyze complex and sometimes sensitive processes. Equally important in delineating the “objectivity” of scholarship is addressing what constitutes historical debates, which lie at the intersection of academic and public history and embody political bias. When asked what historical debates mean to her, Oksana Klymenko remarked that she approaches this term with caution, as it may pertain more to the political sphere than to the historical dimension of research. This remark underscores that discussions are essential for the development of history, as they create a field for reflection:

When I hear the word “debates,” I associate it more with politics. You know, when there are players with certain programs and goals. When we talk about discussion, it is very important because discussions truly generate deeper research, involving scholars from various groups and methodological schools. (…) Therefore, I believe the discussion is crucial for historians. It is necessary for historical scholarship, not just as a public debate but as part of the research process where you challenge and oppose ideas. Without this, historical scholarship is impossible, particularly when discussing the Soviet period.¹⁴

These excerpts underscore the integral role of discussions among intellectuals, who inherently possess a biased perspective, which, when approached critically, allows for a deeper exploration of the subject and creates their own narrative space. In this way, history becomes a construct of scholarly inquiry. 

Therefore, a significant aspect of analyzing the interviews is the scholars’ understanding of history. Ivan Patryliak observed that the definitions of history can vary. For the public—those who are not historians—history might remain an interesting story about the past. However, history serves as a nation’s affirmation:

Ivan Patryliak’s delineation of history highlighted the significance of the researcher’s scholarly interest. Oksana Kis noted that her field of academic interest is an inseparable part of understanding history as the study of the past. Primarily, she emphasized that studying history helps to understand causal relationships:

For me, the knowledge of history, especially women’s history, which is my primary area of interest, is important because it gives us some understanding of the present. (…) For me, history is not didactic; it is not about lessons to avoid repeating, but about understanding how we have become who we are, and why our society looks the way it does and functions the way it does. Knowledge of the past provides key insights into the present and ways to cope with contemporary challenges. Therefore, for me, historical scholarship is about understanding. Knowledge is, of course, important, but we all understand that knowledge is relative and depends on the availability of materials and the interpretation of facts. These various interpretations provide an understanding of the complexity of the past and the ambiguous processes that influenced societal progress.¹²

Olha Koliastruk emphasized that, for her, history is a space for understanding other people and a skill for analysis and deep reflection: “History is truly a field of knowledge that enables dialogue with people and, during Soviet times, even influenced them.”¹⁷

Oksana Klymenko responded that history represents the past, which has a determining influence on the present: “It is the past in the present. Because you work with the past (…) I study the Soviet period, and during the war, many Soviet themes are evident in Russian propaganda and the invasion.”¹⁴ This resonated with Oksana Kis’s statement on understanding the present through the past. Historical study, besides reconstructing the past, must also enter the public domain to instrumentalize academic achievements for contemporary societal transformations:

When we consider the goal of historical research to be the generation of knowledge and the establishment of some historical truth, reconstruction of the past comprehensively and in any other way. At present, no historical studies are needed because the past is not going anywhere. (…) However, if we view our research as knowledge that can become a tool, our weapon in the informational war (…). If we use history to help a society in crisis understand itself better and gain more confidence in its choices, (…) then it makes sense. Within Ukraine, this means that any historical research should eventually have this dimension of public history, bringing history out of the ivory tower and presenting it to society, saying: “Here is useful knowledge that tells us about ourselves. We need to know ourselves better to understand our strengths and weaknesses, to handle ourselves better, and to understand our enemies and potential allies [highlighted—O.K.].”¹²

These interviews show that complete objectivity in historical research is unattainable, as personal identities, experiences, and political contexts inevitably shape interpretation. The war has further emphasized the necessity of recognizing bias and the importance of public engagement with history, not just as an academic pursuit but as a tool for societal understanding. However, the rejection of the possibility of “absolute” objectivity does not negate a critical approach, particularly in historical studies. Ultimately, history serves multiple functions—it can be a nation’s “passport,” a means of identification and self-reflection, or an analytical tool to navigate present challenges through an understanding of the past. It is evident that historians interpret history differently, and according to each distinct definition, history can fulfill various functions.

Challenges Faced by Researchers After the Full-Scale Invasion

The full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine has profoundly impacted the academic community, forcing researchers to navigate personal and professional challenges. These difficulties not only shape their scholarly work but also highlight the inextricable link between historical research and lived experience. For example, Ivan Patryliak recounted how he changed his role from a lecturer and researcher to serving in the army. He noted how difficult this experience was. The researcher seriously believed that after his mobilization, he would never see his family again. Due to limitations on sharing information about his military experience, a short excerpt is provided:

I would say my professional identity as a historian has been complemented by a military identity over the past two years (smiles). Never had I imagined this. Let’s say there might have been a thought, but I never expected to become an officer for such a long time (…) I was mobilized in March. This was just the end of the first week of the war, around the sixth day, I was mobilized because earlier it was not possible due to some issues (…). It was a shocking experience, but to be honest, I did not think Kyiv would withstand. I did not think I would ever see my family again. My wife later told me she and the children were somewhat upset with me for leaving without a proper goodbye.¹⁶

From this excerpt, it is clear that Ivan Patryliak reflected on the profound shift in his identity from historian to military officer, emphasizing the emotional toll of mobilization. The responses of researchers Natalia Shlikhta and Oksana Klymenko regarding the challenges posed by the full-scale invasion reflect a certain professional crisis, specifically the difficulty of teaching and researching Soviet history. For instance, Oksana Klymenko mentioned the moral difficulty of discussing Soviet propaganda, which has a similar structure to Russian propaganda:

I proposed my own course on memory [“Constructing the Memory of the ‘New Soviet Man’”]. This course became a challenge for me. (…) When the full-scale invasion happened, I thought: “How will I teach this course? It’s about the Soviet era.” You notice many parallels. And this was in the spring of 2022, in May and June. I remember that (…) Subsequently, (…) I included Russian propaganda, showing how Soviet motifs transitioned into Russian propaganda, particularly during the war.¹⁴

Natalia Shlikhta emphasized the moral difficulty of teaching courses and discussing Soviet everyday life history after the full-scale invasion. The historian observed that the psychological stress of the lived experience prompted a critical reassessment of the previously pursued research on the Russian Orthodox Church and Soviet everyday life. She emphasized that these very components are instrumentalized by the Russian side in the current war, being framed as integral elements of its ideological narrative:

These are absolutely horrific things—everything that happened after February 24. These are things you will probably remember for the rest of your life when the initial shock wears off, and you start thinking (…) For me, history is about trying to understand people living in those times and circumstances. Understanding each person, each institution. For example, I studied the church in my dissertation. What is the church? The Soviet church is the Russian Orthodox Church, and there were also the catacomb and non-catacomb Ukrainian Greek Catholic Churches, with very different motivations, people, lives, and survival strategies. I desperately wanted to understand both sides and those who persecuted them. This has always fascinated me in history. And then, when such events occur, my immediate reaction to my research subject was: “To hell with understanding them!” (emotionally)  [highlighted—O.K.]. This was complete rejection, absolute hatred, and a strong feeling of regret: “Why did I spend so many years trying to understand this phenomenon when it is now destroying me and my children?” (emotionally) [highlighted—O.K.]. (…) I think that if my research interest was not so tied to the present, perhaps these feelings would not have been as intense or experienced in this way.¹³

The researcher noted that it was specifically the interaction with students that helped her understand the importance of studying the Soviet era to comprehend the determinism of social processes:

The historian noted that after the full-scale invasion, her understanding of the necessity to actively study contemporary history deepened, as it can contribute to a better understanding of present-day social phenomena. She argued that the idea that interpreting current events should be left solely to sociologists or political scientists is counterproductive to the field of history.

I began to realize this when I increasingly heard from students, including in classes, requests, and their interest in what is happening/happened in independent Ukraine after [19]91 and the [19]90s and the 2000s. At one point, I realized that this is something that, by default, we historians consider the domain of political scientists, sociologists, culturologists, and journalists but not ours. Because we are so privileged, and we need sources (ironically). As if some event happened in the past meant that it ended. We can study it, but what concerns us and what is around us is not what we study (…) We historians strive for objectivity; how can we study what we are part of? (ironically) But at one point I began to understand that such a superior position (…) is wrong. And that, obviously, a historian must address what we call current history. And this conviction hit me when February 24th happened (…) and some reflection began, and I realized that [by] looking at the actions of the Putin regime, my knowledge as a historian of Soviet history, let’s say, helps a little. But it does not give all the answers to this question.¹³

Olha Koliastruk also spoke about the moral exhaustion stemming from shock. However, she notably added that her understanding of the need to study the Soviet legacy, on the contrary, became more active. Thus, after a pause, she resumed organizing research seminars on the Soviet past: 

And I admit that, look, in [20]22 we were supposed to have another seminar on everyday life [Soviet everyday life]. But because we were all really traumatized and caught up in the moment, it was then that we realized that we couldn’t invite participants to our seminar (…) We even had this, you know, ‘nice touch’ rule. That is, when we hold these seminars, it’s a kind of, you know, listening discussion. Not so much with a categorical, debatable, harsh defence of something, but listening to everyone who speaks and understanding. And we realized that in April [20]22, we would not be able to do this. I personally, as the head of the seminar, felt that I did not have the psychological strength to take on this [highlighted—O.K.] (…) in the atmosphere of war to talk about it.¹⁷

Oksana Kis noted another dimension of challenges, primarily related to her field of academic interest—feminist theories. The researcher emphasized that for some researchers, the full-scale war challenged one’s adherence to the theory of the negative impact of militarism on women. However, the researcher emphasized that she had always believed that, during wartime, the entire society in Ukraine should undergo militarization, including women:

I did not personally observe such a radical revision of my position, my attitude towards what I do, or which theories I apply. But what I observed among my feminist-oriented colleagues-researchers is a certain crisis of trust in established, widely recognized feminist theories related to militarism (…) about the fundamental harm of the militarization of women: whatever position a woman engages in military affairs and war, she will always lose. (…) I observed with my own eyes how researchers who not only sincerely believed but actively participated in these discussions from this perspective were forced to acknowledge its fallacy when faced directly with the war in Ukraine. (…) To be honest, I always believed that Ukrainians could not afford to demonize the military.¹²

The full-scale invasion deeply impacted researchers, intertwining their professional and personal lives. This highlights researchers primarily as individuals with their experiences and emotions, which inevitably influence their scholarly perspectives. It showed that national identity forces historians to incorporate their identity into academic approaches. 

The Soviet Past in Researchers’ Memories

The Soviet past continues to shape contemporary historical discourse, not only as an academic subject, but also as a lived experience for those who grew up in the USSR. This section explores researchers’ personal memories of the Soviet era, providing valuable insights into how firsthand experiences influence their scholarly perspectives. Therefore, the remarks of Ivan Patryliak (born in 1976), Oksana Kis (born in 1970), Natalia Shlikhta (born in 1977), and Olha Koliastruk (born in 1958) are significant. Working with historians’ memories is somewhat paradoxical: researchers habitually turn to memory as a source for their study, professionally reconstructing images of the past. At the same time, memories allow them to reveal their own “space of experience” of historical events, emphasize their personal perspective on the past, and share life experiences,¹⁹ informing their stances on the Soviet legacy. Ivan Patryliak emphasized that Soviet everyday life seemed like living inside out, and one had to lead a double life. In particular, the researcher recalled how, during his school years, Soviet customs appeared absurd and inauthentic: “It was organic that in school you had to pretend, firstly. Secondly, you understand somehow, we made fun of everything Soviet (…) For us, all these little Octobrists, pioneers—these were anecdotal things.”¹⁶

The historian also recounted several stories from school, which illustrate how the ideology manifested in schools. For example, a striking case is that of Ivan Patryliak, who, together with a friend during classroom duty, removed an embroidered portrait of Lenin and used it as a floor rag. As a result of this childish prank, he was severely reprimanded:

You see, I liked to be a hooligan. I once had a friend, Vitalik Koval—it was already Perestroika, probably the year [19]89, [19]88, [19]89. At that time, we had to take turns cleaning classrooms: sweeping, washing floors. And we had a portrait of Lenin above the entrance, no, not above the entrance, but above the board. But it was like: well, it was like embroidered or not embroidered; in short, it was on fabric. (…) I don’t know how we climbed up there: there were some desks, we put some chairs somewhere and took [the portrait of Lenin] down. In the evening, well, after the duty, we washed it, wet it and put it as a rag at the entrance. And our teacher (…) She was our class teacher. (…) She comes in, like this (shows), and stands in the doorway on this portrait: “Where is Lenin?”. (…) And this one, and everyone is sitting there already stifling with laughter. “Oh, Lenin!”, she took it, almost kissed it. Then they found out who was on duty, we got scolded properly. (…) Then, in [19]89, it seems, I wrote a statement about leaving the Lenin Pioneer Organization—my father was then taken to the KGB (smiles). But after that I never wore a tie and others followed my example. And we successfully destroyed the pioneer organization in our B class even before the collapse of the USSR (laughs).

These stories by Ivan Patryliak vividly illustrate the atmosphere of the late Soviet school. The excerpts remind me of what Catriona Kelly wrote about how in the late Soviet school, students were mostly apathetic towards Soviet ideological issues, which could manifest in the marginalization of Soviet power.²⁰

Olha Koliastruk further noted that life during Soviet times was associated with a dual reality. She recalled a vivid incident from her childhood: a classmate visited her home and noticed an icon. For him, this became a marker of reassurance, as being a religious person in public during the Soviet era often placed one in a space of potential marginalization:

It’s really a duality (…) based on the reaction to a recent classmate reunion (…) My classmate called me and said, ‘ We haven’t seen you in almost 50 years. But he says, ‘I remember how we were at your place and celebrated 7 November [the Day of the October Revolution].’ I’m telling him the details, and he says I saw that you had an icon in one of the rooms of your house. And I came home and told my mother, ‘Mum, don’t worry. ‘ Our Olha Dovhaliuk also has an icon in her house. Mum, don’t worry! She’s a Komsomol member, and there’s nothing to worry about.” Because mum [Olha Koliastruk’s mother] has always been consistent with her faith. (…)  Moreover, my father even made a special frame for this icon. I still have it, this grandmother’s icon, which was brought from a village house. There are other icons, but they are, well, decorative, and this one is valuable. This is also something you understand, and I’ve always heard from my parents that there is an internal conversation and a public conversation. And you always have to draw a line. That is, this duality was understood.¹⁷

Natalia Shlikhta, when asked about her association with Soviet everyday life, mentioned that the late Soviet or early post-Soviet period is characterized in her memory by an association with shortages:

I was very young, relatively speaking, when the Soviet Union collapsed. Obviously, I wasn’t reflecting on what was happening around me. The thing I remember best, truly the best, and I can’t say whether it’s from the last Soviet years or post-1991, is the fact that there was nothing in the stores. This pervasive shortage that we associate with the Soviet Union—I experienced it. It was a very acute experience for me because I remember my mother sending me and my sister before the New Year to shop for basic items like bread, butter, and milk. It wasn’t about anything else, and we had to scour the entire town for these. I also remember travelling from Bila Tserkva to Kyiv with my mother to buy Evening Kyiv candies, which were simply unavailable in Bila Tserkva.¹³

Oksana Kis emphasized that she regards her personal experience of living in the Soviet era as a factual reality, without emotional attachment: neither glorification nor condemnation. She stressed the importance of understanding and accepting the past:

I was born in 1970, raised in a Soviet school, and was a Komsomol member, a pioneer, and even an activist. I am not ashamed of this. I consider it a completely normal part of life to some extent. This is part of Ukraine’s past, part of my biography, part of my family history [highlighted—O.K.]. I regard the past as a factual reality: you cannot be angry at it or love it. It simply was, and it must be accepted. If we are ready to accept it as a fact and start drawing conclusions from it, analyse it, and try to understand what it meant for all of us together, instead of branding it, glorifying it, or building emotional connections with this past. It will be healthier for us.¹²

Researchers’ memories of the Soviet past revealed a complex interplay between personal experience and historical analysis, highlighting themes of ideological duality, everyday hardships, and emotional detachment. Thus, the memory of the Soviet past functions both as a testament to history and as a reflection informed by the scholarly experiences of historians. This allowed for an examination of how researchers’ attitudes toward the past are reflected in the specificity of their narratives.

Rethinking the “Soviet” in Public Space

Rethinking the Soviet legacy in public space remains a complex and contentious issue in Ukraine. This process is shaped by debates over decommunization, national identity, and the broader impact of the Russo-Ukrainian war. Historian Oksana Klymenko noted that discussions about the Soviet past are as complex a topic as they are sensitive:

Oksana Kis outlined another aspect of working with the Soviet past: the public space. She added that memorial policies in Ukraine should align with the vision and values supported by society, as well as with accepting the past as a factual reality:

When it comes to memory policy, I believe that modern Ukraine should look to the future: “Who are we?”, “What do we want?”, “Where are we going?” And accordingly, understand ourselves and our past based on the vision for the future. However, regarding the Soviet past, I do not believe that we should preserve all elements(…) Toponyms, monuments, and the naming of institutions or enterprises are part of memory policy and a way of commemorating the past. Commemoration bestows significance on certain elements of the past. If we do not consider the Soviet past to be exceptionally significant compared to the rest of our history, we probably should not emphasize these elements in our public space.¹²

The researcher provided an example of accepting the past in public space. For instance, she noted that local contexts of remembrance should be honored without imposing labels from the past, creating a modern space with articulated societal values:

I am particularly concerned about the lack of female names in toponymy. (…) Surely, at the local level, there are always several significant women who were prominent in that particular area. (…) Perhaps in some village, where the head of the collective farm was a woman at some point. And during her time, the collective farm prospered, and the people finally began to live decently. Perhaps she deserves to be honored [highlighted—O.K.], even if she was a communist or something else, but she truly served that community. (…) Labeling people as heroines, victims, traitors, or perpetrators does not always work in complex societies like Soviet society or Ukrainian society, a stateless nation where people had to maneuver among different power centers. To realize themselves or fulfill their mission in something they believed in, they had to make compromises, make concessions here and there. Not everything could be clean; not everyone could be in white coats while being geniuses.¹²

The implementation of decommunization policy at both the state and local levels often overlooks the fundamental principles of reinterpreting the Soviet legacy. Olha Koliastruk, the head of the Vinnytsia Search and Publishing Agency “Books of Memory of Those Who Fell for Ukraine,” observed that decommunization processes in Ukraine are being implemented according to Soviet templates. For instance, political decisions may exploit the precarious position of public-sector workers (those employed in towns or villages and paid from state or municipal budgets) to secure “convenient” outcomes: 

When we held the first wave of the commission after [20]15, the city council initiated public hearings, and public employees were traditionally invited to these public hearings: those who are managed in the system so that they could play along with these moments, so to speak. That’s why I’m saying that this is also a Soviet practice that continues to migrate to our standards. Here, you should not be afraid of acute questions and pain that you have to endure because you are defending it.¹⁷

The historian emphasized that memory policy in Ukraine is still approached “in the old way,” without attempts to critically reinterpret the past: “We still think about commemoration in the old ways. That’s why we have such painful feedback, that it’s easy to change the colour, just rewrite, just rename, but that’s not the point. I call this process: returning to oneself and reclaiming oneself.” Despite these manifestations of decomposition, Soviet memory remains in forms familiar to Ukrainians. For instance, Oksana Klymenko added that we needed to rid ourselves of many Soviet customs in public space, such as the celebration of New Year’s Eve or the Soviet perception of March 8th.¹⁴

This underscores a clear need in the public sphere for a rethinking of Soviet-period representations, albeit without definitive outcomes. The rethinking of the Soviet past in public space remains a complex and sensitive issue, as discussions reflect broader debates on national identity and historical memory. It demonstrates that mere renaming or superficial changes are insufficient without deeper societal reflection and critical engagement with history. Researchers emphasize the importance of critically reassessing the Soviet past rather than simply erasing it. They also highlight the persistence of Soviet-period practices in contemporary politics, including decommunization efforts that follow Soviet-period patterns.

“Radianske” versus “Sovietske”

This section examines the contested terminology and the varying perspectives among historians on whether the Soviet legacy can be entirely dismissed as foreign or occupational. These discussions are reflected in the terminology used: “Radianske” versus “Sovietske”.

This is related to the characteristics of the Ukrainian language. However, such an ambiguous designation of the Soviet Union is not unique to the Ukrainian context but is also present in the Polish context. In Poland, the neologism “radziecki” was created as an inherently Polish term to denote the USSR, yet it ultimately became “imperfect” from a linguistic standpoint. Meanwhile, the term “sowiecki” emerged as a significant marker for the negative designation of the eastern “neighbor.”²² A similar pattern emerged in Ukrainian émigré circles regarding the designation of the Soviet Union.  If the contemporary context of discussions on the designation of the Soviet legacy in Ukraine is considered, these discussions about the definition of Soviet power took place long before the Russian-Ukrainian war. For example, Ukrainian historian Natalia Yakovenko noted back in 2011 that Ukrainians in the USSR were active agents on the territory of the Ukrainian SSR:

Soviet Ukraine was a participant in the functioning of the Bolshevik system both in its positive (mass education, industrialization, etc.) and criminal manifestations—repressions, collectivization, Holodomor. Ultimately, it was not sovietske power in Ukraine but “our” radianske power, built by Zatonskyi [Volodymyr Zatonskyi Ukrainian Soviet party leader and statesman], Skrypnyk [Mykola Skrypnyk, Ukrainian Soviet party and state leader and head of the People’s Commissariat of Education (1927-1933)], Manuilskyi [Dmytro Manuilskyi, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Ukrainian SSR (1944-1952)], and others. It should be noted that the Ukrainian artistic elite also contributed significantly to the processes of Sovietization, as the figures of the so-called “Executed Renaissance” mostly adhered to communist ideals.²³

An opposing view on the designation of Soviet power can be found in the statement of Ukrainian philosopher Vakhtang Kebuladze, who noted in 2010 that for Ukraine, the legacy of the USSR is hostile and foreign. Thus, it was necessary to use the term “sovietske”:

I deliberately used the adjective sovietske artificially created by direct transliteration of the Russian word, rather than its Ukrainian translation radianske. Direct transliteration from Russian, in my opinion, emphasizes that this political formation is a direct predecessor of modern Russia, and for Ukraine, it remains alien and even hostile. Since I am fully satisfied with such a negative semantic connotation, I gladly use this term to designate this state. In contrast, its sympathizers and the sympathizers of modern Russia, or people indifferent to this topic, use the native Ukrainian word radianske.²⁴

Historian Ivan Patryliak, when addressing this question, first referred to the historical development of Ukrainian territories initially within the Russian Empire and later in the USSR. In his view, many processes and phenomena that emerged during the Soviet period were the result of ordinary cause-and-effect dynamics, such as technological progress. He emphasized the use of the term “Sovietske,” which semantically conveys that the Soviet period of history was imposed on Ukraine by Moscow: 

When we approach this question, it is crucial to remember that much of what emerged did so not because of the communist system here but because society naturally evolves, and so on. (…) The Soviety [transliteration of the Russian word] always tried, and not only the Soviets but Russians in general, they always tried to show that Russian occupation brings progress [highlighted – O.K.]. (…) But in reality, we shouldn’t fall for this. (…) That is, it is the natural development of society. It evolves; it builds. New technologies emerge here or are borrowed, but they appear, nonetheless. (…) We come to the conclusion that the Soviet system, this 70-year period of Soviet rule over Ukraine, was a period of ineffective governance. I’m not saying we have effective governance now; we are still dealing with the consequences of that. But it was ineffective governance.²⁵

In this context, it is also important to consider the researcher’s response to how to view Ukrainians who were participants and creators of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. For instance, Ivan Patryliak added that, undoubtedly, this is part of Ukrainian history. He emphasized that despite Ukrainians’ involvement in creating the Soviet reality, all Ukrainian territories were occupied by Soviet power: 

This system, this wretched system, this absolutely ineffective system that was extremely resource-intensive in terms of people and everything else. It did not produce the results it should have, considering it was the most resource-rich country in the world. It built a life that was perhaps one of the poorest in Europe, if not the poorest. (…) On the one hand, we see it was ineffective. On the other hand, you correctly frame the question, but Ukrainians were also part of this system. Right? Involved. (…) Undoubtedly, this is a part of our history (…) We can’t escape it; it’s part of our history. (…) If it weren’t for Moscow and its imperial idea, there wouldn’t have been collaborators either.²⁶

Regarding whether Soviet occupation can be applied to areas where some Ukrainians saw a Ukrainian state project within communist formations, Ivan Patryliak noted that national communists were primarily driven by self-interest and personal gain. This led them to cooperate with Russians: “These national communists. These are people who wanted to be deceived. There is such a category of people who, perhaps, deceive themselves to the point of fanaticism. They wanted to be deceived. (…) They didn’t think that this country would disappear tomorrow. They thought about how to gain power in it.”²⁵ Concerning the formation of a Soviet-Ukrainian identity in the Ukrainian SSR, the historian pointed out that this is characteristic of non-titular nations of empires, where identity becomes split:

The identity problem is a problem for all non-titular nations of an empire. Non-titular nations integrated into the imperial body. (…) The same was true for all these people in the Soviet period, where this communism took place. (…) When you live in a country where only the imperial identity is presented as complete, as great, as significant, you begin to take pride in it and try to identify with it. If you want to preserve your local identity, you start experiencing this schizophrenia, this split. (…) A small part defended their Ukrainian identity. But on the other hand, they took pride in the overall sovietske. The Bolshoi Theatre, hockey, space, victory in the Great Patriotic War, nuclear weapons (…) And your small homeland, at best, is some sharovary [transliteration of the name of men’s Ukrainian folk trousers], hopak [transliteration of the name of a Ukrainian folk dance], dumplings, vodka, and a coat. You can, of course, enjoy it, as long as you don’t cross a certain line. (…) So, we can talk about the Ukrainian history of the Soviet era. (…) The name of this Ukrainian, Soviet, communist, Bolshevik figure slips my mind, but Lenin and Stalin called him a fake Ukrainian. (…) Zatonsky! The People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. When he was appointed to head it, Stalin and Lenin said, “This is our fake Ukrainian.” So they created a fake Ukraine [highlighted – O.K.].²⁵

Thus, the researcher argues that the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic primarily served Russian interests rather than Ukrainian ones, aligning with a colonial framework for interpreting Ukraine’s past.  In particular, this echoes the argument of the Ukrainian intellectual Mykola Riabchuk, who contends that ethnic Ukrainians in high Soviet positions held no real political power for Ukraine as a nation.²⁷ He describes the Soviet Union as an empire, stating it integrated Ukrainians into its system for career advancement while suppressing nationalist sentiments.²⁷

This blurring of the line between colonizer and colonized makes Ukraine’s case distinct from traditional colonial models like those of Frantz Fanon. Ukrainians’ involvement in Soviet governance was primarily a matter of loyalty exchange rather than genuine agency. Despite this, researcher Ivan Patryliak emphasizes that all aspects of Ukrainian history merit study:

Everything is worth researching. (…) The national movement was the work of a passionate minority. And such a conformist majority goes with the flow, even if they mock it in jokes. (…) Pretending to go along with the party line, waving the red flag. Though they might not care about it at all. Should we study this Soviet aspect? Of course, the entire system needs to be studied. Both within the general USSR as a phenomenon or the world communist movement. And within the scope of this branch that existed here with its phenomena in Soviet Ukraine. National communism and localism—the so-called post-war “localism” (…) local interests tried to take precedence over union-wide interests. All the Shelests [Petro Shelest — First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Ukraine, 1963-1972], it was often called by such a term localism (…) And the fact that it all needs to be researched is undoubtedly true.²⁵

Thus, Ivan Patryliak views Soviet history primarily as “sovietske.” Olha Koliastruk articulated a similar yet distinct perspective. The historian emphasized the importance of the meanings we embed in words. She, therefore, leans toward using more frequently the conceptual term “sovietske,” while not abandoning the use of “radianske.” The researcher highlighted the necessity of these two terms to create a sense of contrast:

Words matter. And they matter even more, and the meanings they contain play an even greater role [highlighted—O.K.]. (…) But the further I go, the more I am inclined to believe that we need to define the Soviet as sovietske. (…) I believe that this should be touched upon and that it should be explained that this is an instrument that was deliberately imposed in [19]20s. It was already simply pushed through the Holodomor and through repressions against the intelligentsia up to the [19]37-38s. (…) Another important aspect. Because all those generations that were formed after the breakdown of the [19]30s, yes, this was a generation of Soviet people [highlighted—O.K.]. And they were no longer accomplices, but they were the fabric on which all this ideological stuff is embroidered. (…) This is really the result of engineering — it’s very serious. (…) But emphasizing and thinking about the fact that the word “rada” and “soviet” are different things in terms of their meanings. (…) This contrast is necessary because if it is simply used, we will not catch this corrosion, which is really at the level of the impact of radiation, or how it works.²⁸

Notably, Olha Koliastruk added that the Ukrainian dimension of the Soviet experience existed not merely as an adaptation but as an organic fusion of the “Soviet” and the “Ukrainian.” Thus, in the context of decommunization policies, it is essential to move away from unequivocally labelling the “Soviet” as “foreign.”

The Soviet-Ukrainian was there, and in many things it was sincere, it was affected, but is it just an adaptation in order to survive? No, on the contrary, it is often a manifestation of resistance as the smallest thing in everyday culture! This is the only way to declare yourself as a Ukrainian. So it seems to me that this is something that also needs to be thought about very seriously. And I notice this tendency that ‘since it’s Soviet, it’s subject to decommunization, so it should just be erased. It should just be thrown into the dustbin of history and not reflected on. And so (…) simply turning your head away from this heritage is unfair [highlighted—O.K.]. It is very complex. And we need to understand it and refuse to say yes/no.¹⁷

Researcher Oksana Klymenko noted that it is impossible to homogenize the different periods of Soviet history, as they represent distinct state projects:

I am interested in the last thesis concerning “not ours” [past]. I think there will be more discussions about this after the war, especially. Because now we talk more about decolonization and such things and about the Soviet (…), but if we talk about the Soviet, I would not unify it. The 1920s Soviet and the 1930s Soviet [years]—these are different things. And, for example, rejecting the heritage of the VUFKU [All-Ukrainian Photo Cinema Administration] is also Soviet. Should we reject it? And this is a debatable question. Some say: ‘Well, no. But it is the Soviet cinema.’ So, indeed. Therefore, again, when we talk about the Soviet, there are certain approaches to teaching the Soviet in school and teaching the Soviet at university. At university, I think it is indeed appropriate that courses include memoirs and films. That is, when someone says: “Oh, I watched a Soviet film, and it is a disgrace!” But, on the other hand, you watched it to analyse these films, and you saw these leitmotifs, which we do in our course. (…) Another matter is when you watched, analysed, discussed, heard other people, debated, read about it, and so on.¹⁴

From this excerpt, we see that Oksana Klymenko emphasized that this is a contentious topic that should be approached cautiously. However, the researcher highlighted the need to change approaches to studying the Soviet past. This resonates with the thesis expressed by Oksana Kis. The researcher noted that scholars should approach the past cautiously:

I believe this is not a question of “can or cannot.” It must be. We cannot ignore 70 years of our history or only pull out a few significant events and consider that they defined everything, and everything else was insignificant: so this was the Holodomor in [19]32-33, [19]46-47, there was the war, there were political repressions, national liberation struggles—these are significant parts of Soviet history, and all others are insignificant? No, that’s not possible.(…) We must understand these meanings; they did not always fight against Soviet power, they were Soviet people. They accepted certain rules of the game or adapted to them to some extent. So, I think it is very important to study this experience of adaptation and interaction with the government, which they considered their own. (…) Otherwise, we will not understand what is happening now between Ukrainians and the Ukrainian government, which is no longer foreign. Studying the Soviet experience is simply essential, and it is not a matter of glorifying or criticizing it. It is a matter of analysing it.¹²

Natalia Shlikhta also emphasized the ambiguity of defining the Soviet era. In particular, on the question of the appropriateness of using the terms “radianske” and “sovietske,” the researcher responded that the terms can be used depending on the historical context:

I will give my opinion, not claiming to be the ultimate truth or anything. In my opinion, when talking about Soviet past, I always use the term radianske when referring to Soviet history for the simple reason outlined by the mentioned Natalia Mykolaivna [Yakovenko] in her interview. (…) As Roman Lyubavskyi once told me, when he was talking about cities founded and built in the Soviet Union. And he said, a very good phrase (…)  “If you remove the Soviet past from the history of these cities, that is, to say that it is foreign and imposed, then nothing at all will remain” [highlighted—O.K.]. This can be said about many phenomena, starting from the same Ukrainian sixties, which are an absolutely Soviet phenomenon. And ending with I don’t know what. As for the term sovietske, or whether it has the right to exist? Of course it does! If the context is appropriate, for me, it is absolutely logical to use this term “the arrival of soviets,’ the first soviets,” if we are talking about the arrival in Galicia, if we are talking about post-1939 or post-1945 events in Western Ukraine [occupation of western Poland by Soviet troops in 1939]. Because it was exactly the soviets who came there—strangers from the East. They came to occupy. This is the context where this term is absolutely logical.¹³

This idea about the appropriateness of using two terms, “radianske” and “sovietske,” echoes what Ukrainian historian Olena Stiazhkina outlined. Ukrainian territories that fell under Moscow’s control in the 1920s [Stiazhkina emphasized that Soviet power was imposed] acquired the transformative features of a policy, where part of the population, consciously/unconsciously supported the regime and called themselves Soviet/Radianske Ukrainians. This allows for the use of the term “Radianske.” But if we talk about the establishment of Soviet power in the territory of modern Western Ukraine, the violent imposition of power allows for the use of the term “soviets.”

Thus, the use of the term “Radianske” is not a marker of the glorification of Soviet heritage. This challenges the argument presented at the beginning of this study by the Ukrainian philosopher Vakhtang Kebuladze, who claimed that this term is used for such purposes: “sympathizers of modern Russia or people who are indifferent to this topic, and here they use the specific Ukrainian word ‘Radianske’.”²⁴

Thus, this part of the research showed that all scholars emphasize the contentious nature of the issue. There are different opinions regarding the definition of Soviet power in Ukrainian territories: “occupational” or “ambiguous,” considering the different historical contexts of Ukrainian territories. The contrast in the use of different terms, on the contrary, allows for a deeper understanding of the various dimensions of attitudes toward the Soviet past as a complex part of Ukrainian history. The presence of such a debate is crucial for a critical study of the Soviet past. For instance, Oksana Kis noted that having a single, correct version of history would resemble Soviet times, emphasizing that the diversity of various historical interpretations should be an important aspect of Ukrainian scholarship:

I categorically reject a canon. As soon as we establish a canon, we revert to the Soviet Union, where there is only one correct version of history—there are no others. (…) I believe there should be a variety of interpretations, approaches to explanations, and numerous studies, even on the same topic, but from different approaches and with different conclusions, evidently. (…) I am very sincerely, truly, sincerely impressed by the scholars who are undertaking this. These studies in Ukraine have only just begun to develop because it is very challenging for a nation as traumatized as the Ukrainians to begin engaging in perpetrator studies. To study those who oppressed us and those who destroyed Ukrainians.¹²

Therefore, it is essential to actively engage in discussions about Ukrainian history in order to gain a deeper understanding of it. The debate over the terms “Radianske” and “Sovietske” reveals the complexity of defining the Soviet past in Ukraine, as scholars grapple with whether it should be viewed as an imposed occupation or an integrated historical experience. Ultimately, this discussion underscores the importance of diverse historical interpretations; rejecting a singular, canonical narrative allows for a more nuanced and critical engagement with the Soviet legacy. 

Ukrainian perspective on Soviet history

This section underscores the importance of reclaiming Soviet history from a predominantly Russian-centric framework, which has shaped Western academic discourse for decades. Natalia Shlikhta notably remarked that during the Cold War, Soviet history in Western academia was studied through the discipline of “Sovietology,” predominantly conducted by individuals from the Russian diaspora. This allowed the discipline to view the Soviet space primarily through the lens of Moscow.²⁹ In her article, the researcher emphasized the need to offer a Ukrainian perspective on Soviet history.³⁰ When I asked her how to respond to the proliferation of Soviet history studies in Western academia primarily through the Russian lens, Natalia Shlikhta reiterated the need to study and offer a detailed perspective on Soviet history:

This is my personal response, which I arrived at with my students back in 2022. And the response is: ‘Something needs to be done.’ And that something, which I have provisionally called the “Ukrainian perspective on Soviet history” [emphasis added by O.K.]. (…) But this is what can and should be done to avoid repeating the mistake made earlier. When our diaspora, which began developing its research centres in the United States and Canada in the 1970s, (…) they handed over Soviet history to this “Sovietology.” From the outset, the Russian diaspora and Russian intellectual circles that migrated there had a significant influence. And our research centres, whether it was Harvard or the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, did a lot, but among their research priorities, they never included the study of Soviet history: ‘Because Soviet is foreign. Soviet is repressive,’ and to study it, and they handed it over to those to whom they handed it. (…) We are in a position where we can see the essence of the problem and really observe it. (…) We understand the causes of this issue. And under these circumstances (…) we can now (…) understand this simple thing: to distance ourselves, to brand it as a repressive state is much easier and more correct under these circumstances than to continue studying this history. But if we do not do this, the question is not whether we will benefit from this or not.¹³

This resonates with Oksana Kis’s response to a similar question. The researcher pointed out, using the example of teaching a course on the Gulag, that the constant uncritical citation of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn in Western academia regarding the Gulag perpetuates the colonial Russian discourse. Therefore, in her course, the researcher proposes to show an alternative space of camp resistance in the Gulag, based on the memoirs of non-Russians:

I now taught at the University of Richmond, the first time I taught the course “Anthropology of the Gulag,” and in this course, consciously, Solzhenitsyn and his ‘The Gulag Archipelago’ were not included in the reading list. (…) It was a completely imperial, repressive, Russian-speaking institution. But Gulag studies inherited this, what is called in English ‘legacy.’ This imperial legacy is traced. When researchers who have nothing to do with Russia, from Italy, American researchers, are completely blind and do not see anything beyond Russian norms about the Gulag. For them, other narratives do not exist. This means they continue this colonial Russian discourse. They have adapted it. [emphasis added by O.K.] And it was very important for me to show students that the Gulag consisted of very different people. Their experiences were very different, and even if there were relatively few Germans in the Gulag, for example, or Poles, or Baltic nations. There were few of them in number, but proportionally to the size of their nations—it was a huge mass. Their experiences were different. And in these Gulag studies, Ukrainians were woven into this alternative narrative, which very seriously opposes and shows a completely different dimension of Gulag experiences compared to what is massively written about and translated into large volumes around the world. (…) And this was important, and for the students, it was a revelation that in the Gulag there was resistance, and it was not only in the form of camp uprisings. But in the form of daily resistance, such opposition to this dehumanization, which is very well traced precisely in the memoirs of non-Russians.¹²

This section of the study highlighted the need for scholars to offer a renewed perspective on Soviet history, particularly through a Ukrainian lens. This approach challenges the long-dominant Russian-centric narrative in Western academia and underscores the importance of critically assessing sources and interpretations.

Conclusion

This research has been one of the most emotionally profound experiences of my academic journey. I was faced with the complex task of listening to and understanding a diverse spectrum of perspectives on the Soviet past—not merely the Soviet past, but the “Soviet past” in the context of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The war underscored the impossibility of full objectivity in historical scholarship, amplifying existing biases rather than creating new ones. Given the multiplicity of traumatic historical experiences, conducting field research required a high degree of empathy and mutual understanding. The recorded interviews turned out to be both sincere and insightful, thanks to our close collaboration with the respondent scholars. I explored various aspects of the Soviet past, ranging from the “Soviet frameworks” of decommunization to Ukrainian perspectives on Soviet history. Through these topics, I sought to construct my own narrative space on the interpretations of the Soviet legacy in the context of war, stressing the diversity of perspectives.

Despite shared political positions—condemnation of Russian aggression in Ukraine and the absence of glorification of Soviet policies—two distinct viewpoints emerge: the Soviet past as occupation or its ambiguity, where it is difficult to separate one’s heritage from that of the occupier. This is particularly evident in the divergent terminological framing of the Soviet past: “Soviеtske” versus “Radianske.” The coexistence of such contrasting perspectives allows for a more profound and multifaceted understanding of Ukraine’s past, akin to two sides of the same coin. This underscores the complexity of historical analysis and the necessity of a multidimensional approach to studying the Soviet past. After all, this is a space where Ukrainians both coexisted and actively contributed to the creation of the Soviet Ukrainian realm while simultaneously experiencing occupation and the suppression of the Ukrainian national dimension. This underscores the complexity of Ukrainian history.

Defining the Soviet past remains challenging due to its complexity, colonial legacies, and ongoing ideological influence. Ukrainian scholars seek to deconstruct the Russian narrative of the USSR as a monolithic empire, asserting Ukraine’s distinct historical experience as both part of and subject to Soviet rule.

I sincerely hope that my initial decision to write “Russia” in lowercase has not been perceived merely as an expression of what critics often refer to as nationalism in a negative context. Rather, I hope that readers have gained insight into the extraordinarily complex realities faced by people in Ukraine, including historians, as a result of Russia’s invasion. These realities shape the daily lives of Ukrainian scholars—shifting from academic work to military service, enduring missile attacks and power outages, and, most tragically, experiencing the loss of colleagues. Therefore, it is crucial to carefully consider the processes of knowledge production and the understanding of people’s lived realities.

1. As this is my text, and I cannot take the opportunity to write this, I am asking you to join the fundraising for a memorial scholarship fund for fallen history graduates by following this link. Since the beginning of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russia, alumni and students of the Department of History have stood up to defend Ukraine. Unfortunately, the community has already lost two history graduates: Yevhen Olefirenko and Valerii Senko. To honor the defenders and preserve their memory, the Department of History of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, together with the Kyiv-Mohyla Association, is offering two scholarships. “Memorialna stypendiia Yevhena Olefirenka ta Valeriia Senka.” Memorialna stypendiia im. Yevhena Olefirenka ta Veleriia Senka. [Scholarship in memory of Yevhen Olefrienko and Valerii Senko] (date of access, 19.06.2024). https://inmemoriam.kmascholars.org.ua/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR20bYc-2ypa_biZIykaOMQGpRcLxl7ns3PmuEteEZQ-LuzVvQ5PACwwI_k_aem_ZmFrZWR1bW15MTZieXRlcw. [↩]
2. Vtorhnennia Rosii v Ukrainu. Onlain”. [Russian invasion of Ukraine. Online] (date of access, 08.06.2024). https://ua.korrespondent.net/ukraine/politics/4449684-vtorhnennia-rosii-v-ukrainu-onlain. [↩]
3. Peter Seixas, “Historical Agency As A Problem For Researchers In History Education,” Antíteses 5, № 10 (2012): 538. [↩]
4. The Ukrainian Institute of National Remembrance defines the policy of decommunisation as a ‘process of rethinking the legacy of the communist regime and removing elements of communist ideology from the symbolic space of Ukraine, which began long before the Revolution of Dignity but became systematic after its adoption on 9 April 2015’. Dekomunizatsiia. [Decommunization] Ukrainskyi instytut natsionalnoi pamiati – ofitsiinyi veb-sait. URL: https://uinp.gov.ua/dekomunizaciya-ta-reabilitaciya/dekomunizaciya [↩]
5. Ulrich Schmid, “Postkolonialismus und kein Ende? Die Ukraine als Testfall für theoretische Alternativen” Osteuropa (12/2023): 97. [↩]
6. O. Palko, Intellectual Debates around Soviet Legacy in Ukraine, Intellectual Debates in Modern Ukrainian History and Contemporary Public Sphere, IUFU, СEU, 30/04/2022/ [↩]
7. Mykola Riabchuk, “Bila shkira, chorna mova”. Zbruch. https://zbruc.eu/node/102635 [↩]
8. Mykola Riabchuk, “Soromiazlyvyi kolonializm”. Zbruch. https://zbruc.eu/node/102782. [↩]
9. Ulrich Schmid, “Postkolonialismus und kein Ende? Die Ukraine als Testfall für theoretische Alternativen Osteuropa (12/2023): 99. [↩]
10. Ulrich Schmid, “Postkolonialismus und kein Ende? Die Ukraine als Testfall für theoretische Alternativen Osteuropa (12/2023): 112. [↩]
11. François Bedarida, “The Historian’s Craft, Historicity, and Ethics,” Historians and Social Values, Ed. by Joep Leerssen and Ann Rigney (Amsterdam University Press, 2000), 75. [↩]
12. Transcribed interview with Oksana Kis (recording 31.05.2024, used only for the purposes of this research for IUFU). [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
13. Transcribed interview with Natalia Shlikhta (recording 17.06.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
14. Transcribed interview with Oksana Klymenko (recording 05.04.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
15. Viina Rosii proty Ukrainy ye ekzystentsiinoiu, buttievoiu – Ivan Patryliak. [Ivan Patryliak: Russia’s war against Ukraine is existential] ArmiiaInform – Informatsiine ahentstvo ArmiiaInform. URL: https://armyinform.com.ua/2022/04/29/vijna-rosiyi-proty-ukrayiny-ye-ekzystenczijnoyu-buttyevoyu-ivan-patrylyak/ [↩]
16. Transcribed interview with Ivan Patryliak (recording 01.04.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩] [↩] [↩]
17. Transcribed interview with Olha Koliastruk (recording 13.12.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
18. URL: https://nus.org.ua/2021/02/15/otsinky-z-brehneyu-ta-provokuvannya-spysuvannya-yak-vyhovuvaty-dobrochesnist-u-shkoli/ [↩]
19. Mykhailiv, I. “(Pere)osmyslennia “radianskoho” u spohadakh ukrainskykh istorykiv”. Vcheni zapysky TNU imeni V.I. Vernadskoho. Seriia: istorychni nauky 32(71), № 3 (2021): 107. [↩]
20. K. Kelli. “Shkolnyy vals: povsednevnaya zhizn sovetskoy shkoly v poslestalinskoe vremya”. [‘The School Waltz’: The Everyday Life of the Post-Stalinist Soviet Classroom] Antropologicheskiy forum. № 1 (2004): 127. [↩]
21. Koliastruk Olha Anatoliivna – Vikipediia. Vikipediia. URL: https://uk.wikipedia.org/wiki/Коляструк_Ольга_Анатоліївна [↩]
22. Stanislaw Westfal, “Radziecki czy sowiecki,” Kulturze, № 7/310-8/311(1973): 204-209. [↩]
23. Istorychna pravda. “Natalia Yakovenko: “V Ukraini diiala ne “sovetskaia vlast”, a “radianska vlada””. [‘It was not ‘Sovietskaya vlast’ that operated in Ukraine, but radianska vlada] Istorychna pravda, (date of access, 18.06.2024). https://www.istpravda.com.ua/articles/2011/12/6/64212/. [↩]
24. “Sovietske vs. radianske”. Diariush abo tysk slova. (date of access, 18.06.2024). https://maksymus.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/243774/. [↩] [↩]
25. Transcribed interview with Ivan Patryliak (recording 16.05.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
26.  Transcribed interview with Ivan Patryliak (recording 16.05.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩]
27. Mykola Riabchuk, “Soromiazlyvyi kolonializm”. [Shy colonialism] Zbruch. https://zbruc.eu/node/102782. [↩] [↩]
28.  Transcribed interview with Olha Koliastruk (recording 13.12.2024, Oral History Laboratory of the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy). [↩]
29. Natalia Shlikhta, “Chy varto i navishcho zaimatysia radianskoiu istoriieiu?”, Naukovi zapysky NaUKMA. Istorychni nauky 6 (2023): 23. [↩]
30. Natalia Shlikhta, “Chy varto i navishcho zaimatysia radianskoiu istoriieiu?”, Naukovi zapysky NaUKMA. Istorychni nauky 6 (2023): 24. [↩]