censorship

Exhibitions are allowed, but panel discussions are not. Working with the Memorial is all right, but advertising it is not. Probing history is permitted, probing religion is not, and the same goes for mediaeval miniatures and children’s books about nature. The spaces of culture are getting their very own red flags.

RU
CENSORSHIP
CENSORSHIP

Exhibitions are allowed, but panel discussions are not. Working with the Memorial is all right, but advertising it is not. Probing history is permitted, probing religion is not, and the same goes for mediaeval miniatures and children’s books about nature. The spaces of culture are getting their very own red flags.

RU
—Unfortunately, we have to deal with censorship all the time, at every step of the way. People are open, and yet options are limited. So the main issue is about being meaningful in spite of being censored. In Perm, we sometimes have to avoid mentioning the Memorial in collaborations, otherwise installations are closed the night before the opening.
—The Russian state believes that games promote hate and terrorism, but it does not really clamp down on them. There have been just two or three cases of products prohibited on the Russian territory, including Tell Me Why, a game developed by the studio behind the franchise Life Is Strange, about transgender persons learning to accept themselves. But all in all the game market is relatively free because it is quite small. Even the studios working in Russia target other countries as well. While the state so far did not get around to monitoring games (and hopefully never will), app stores are busy imposing age restrictions, and these are terrible enemies to fight.
—It was a matter of principle for me to avoid ideological interventions. And they never happened. Sometimes I suspect that the parent organisation does not really know what is going on in the museum. This mode of interaction is perfect for me, and personally I have never experienced censorship or restrictions based on my political standing. But I am aware that I am walking on thin ice and well-wishers might inform the competent authorities at any moment.
—Several years ago, a series of red beacon lights were put out to show me where I cannot venture any more. This is, first and foremost, about heritage preservation and other issues under the jurisdiction of municipal structures. Municipal employees cannot attend rallies, and the gallery cannot by any means be used for making posters or banners. In that respect, the clampdown was quite tough: calls were made to every institution I worked with, my social media accounts were tracked. At one of those meetings, I found an entire dossier of printouts of my posts. Long story short, the management made a polite but strong request. After all, the one that gets the actual blame is my director, who has absolutely no fault or clue in the matter. So I had to promise to refrain from comments. On the other hand, no one gives a damn about my exhibitions. There have never been any censorship issues in the gallery, I can pull off any number of strange initiatives and carry on my research. But taking anything to the streets is a problem. So, exhibitions are all right, but events are not.

The most obvious piece of common knowledge of the past seven or eight years is that all protests are banned, regardless of format or cause. Panel discussions are also taboo because they attract the media. An open, unregulated debate is not welcome inside a public cultural institution. It is an instance of self-censorship, an attempt at preemption from the part of our management. The Moscow Department of Culture has not yet introduced obligatory pre-approvals for every event, but we already follow the procedure. Every event must be programmed (and authorised) thirty days ahead, and speakers contracted regardless of whether they get a fee. Everything is processed officially and stamped by the management. This particular measure was implemented in the wake of a series of panel discussions and public talks that were perceived as extremist. From then onwards, everyone has been trying to play safe, making life extremely difficult. If I learn about the visit of a super expert just one week in advance, I’d better think not twice but ten times if it is worthwhile to plan a public talk that entails hundreds of thousands of memos and authorisations. It is a challenge, but sometimes I get it done. What is even more difficult is a request from the neighbourhood communities. When asked to host a debate on some pressing issue, I mostly have to say no. I must think carefully if it is really urgent and relevant enough to risk it and get all the trouble. Sometimes it is easier to move the activity elsewhere.

What else is taboo, from the point of view of the art scene? Religion, to be sure. I have been trying to make an exhibition about anti-religious propaganda for quite some time now. But I realised that it has no place on any of the platforms I can use, even though the project is of an entirely academic and historical nature. No way. This is it. The stop list is growing every year. On the other hand, no one goes into detail: you can go on with your work if there are no danger signs. Many of my colleagues are prone to advertising their actions ostensibly. As for me, I prefer making projects to advertising them. So I try to avoid controversial wording. I don’t really care about the title on the poster as long as the project goes the way I planned and no one interferes with the rest of my texts.

The game has a clear set of rules that include the title and the summary. By avoiding subversive words in these formats, I earn the right to proceed the best way I can. Moreover, there are certain people who attract additional trouble: @real_cultras on Telegram has a complete list. This is life, alas.
—For me, censorship is really a personal issue. My department used to be based in the former restricted section. When we moved in and started exploring our new domain, the main question was: why would this or that tome end up on these shelves? And today my ex-colleagues are lifting index cards from the catalogue just because the publications were supported by the Soros Foundation, even though the author and the text are beyond reproach. Personally, I think this is utter nonsense. I am not a legal expert, but substantially it is simply surreal. On the other hand, I cannot stop thinking of Giotto: there used to be an Italian book on his art in the restricted section. We kept racking our brains about it: why would Giotto be deemed subversive for the Soviet regime? After all, he did not live to see it! On the next shelf, there was an encyclopaedia of gnomes with a naked munchkin and a book of The Beatles' lyrics. They were about freedom, so they were anti-Soviet. And the author of the introduction to Giotto’s album must have said something wrong about the USSR, so he ended up in the censor’s stop list. But Open Society! George Soros has supported the publication of a vast range of textbooks and schoolbooks in Russia, which were hailed and widely distributed by the Ministries of culture, media, and education. And now his foundation is among the undesirables, and everything it has ever supported is subject to elimination. Isn’t it pure madness? It means every literary monthly from the 1990s to the early 2000s must be destroyed. But alas, incompetent people make incompetent decisions, and we have to live with it.
The various branches of the Memorial were first listed as foreign agents (2014−2016) and then liquidated by a court decision in December, 2021.
The book in question is Andrey Yurganov’s Categories of Russian Medieval Culture, published with the support of the Open Society Foundation in 1998. In 2019, it was removed to the restricted section of the Library of Foreign Literature and taken out of the digital catalogue. Since 2015, when the Open Society Foundation was designated an undesirable organisation, its logo meant trouble even for the classics of the calibre of Pushkin, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov, Prishvin, and Solzhenitsyn: these editions had been prepared specifically for the use of libraries in the rural areas outside Arkhangelsk and later taken out.

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