Art as a Battleground: Defiance of Authoritarianism through Documentational Art in Ukraine and Hong Kong
Cultural conflict, or to a greater extent the "cultural war," is a concept originating from Germany (Kulturkampf) that is now universally used to explain the phenomenon when people from different cultures or geographical regions hold conflicting values, beliefs, and social norms. Both in Hong Kong and Ukraine, the native populations have experienced various forms of cultural conflicts with the predominant groups of immigrants from Communist China and Russia, respectively. In a diverse and inclusive community, different voices, art, and cultures can harmoniously coexist. However, as the "cultural invasion" by both major powers continues to intensify, it exacerbates the situations, leading to a scenario where the "new culture" of the People's Republic of China (PRC) and Russia dominates over the original domestic cultures in Hong Kong and Ukraine.
As someone who occasionally advocates for nihilistic ideologies, I find myself pondering pessimistically, questioning, "Why do we invest so much in these issues?" and "Why can't we simply allow hegemonic authoritarian powers to tyrannically dominate their neighbouring states?" It was during a conversation with Liliia that I discovered answers to these critical self-reflections.
First, the desire for improvement is deeply ingrained in our DNA as Homo sapiens. Humans, being tribal animals, have always strived throughout our anthropological history to attain a better and higher status than our surroundings, seeking improved wealth, sex, and power for survival. We are inherently inclined to play the "status game," as quoted from one of my recent favorite books by the British journalist Will Storr. Second, during my conversation with Liliia, she shared with me a memorable quote that resonated with her deeply: "It doesn't matter where you are physically; if you identify as Ukrainian, you can continue fighting for that identity." It was heartwarming to witness her unwavering commitment to her identity, defending her culture and art steadfastly against the desires of greater powers for territorial expansion. Her resolute defiance brought to mind a quote by the Japanese author Haruki Murakami, "Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."
In times of conflict, there are always vulnerable individuals suffering from wars. Regardless of one's identities and political convictions, it remains evident that political figures in the "Western" world sometimes exploit advocacies related to Ukraine or Hong Kong as part of their political campaigns to garner support, often resorting to "token gestures" to promote their liberal ideologies. Similarly, government institutions in the "Eastern" world may disguise their ambitions for territorial and power expansion under the guise of historical interpretations. In all these complexities, our unwavering allegiance resides with individuals who confront oppressive systems. This stance, founded on a conscientious commitment to the inherent goodness of humanity, embodies a simple yet profound act of solidarity.
Since Liliia and I are both undergraduate students in the Visual Culture department, we have engaged in discussions about the impact of documentational art for cultural workers or artists, and the extent to which a work can be considered political when it inadvertently intersects with controversial agendas. Liliia mentioned Oksana Semenik, a Ukrainian art historian, journalist, and researcher known for her years of advocacy for Ukrainian art. Oksana has garnered a significant following on Twitter, where she reshapes the narrative of Ukrainian art history.
In an interview article with Oksana Semenik by journalist Constant Méheut in The New York Times, it was noted, "Ms. Semenik’s work has been crucial in raising awareness of the country’s cultural heritage at a critical time, according to art-world figures, helping to counter the Kremlin’s assertion that Ukrainian nationhood is a fabrication." On her Twitter account, she frequently highlights Ukrainian artists who have been inaccurately identified as Russian, such as the avant-garde artist Oleksandra Ekster or the 19th-century painter Illia Repin. These artists, despite their Ukrainian roots, faced oppression, exile, or even death at the hands of Russia. Due to Moscow's persistent efforts to depict Ukrainian culture as part of Russian heritage, they were often mislabeled as Russian. Platforms like social media, particularly Twitter, have become virtual spaces facilitating global connections and enabling "liberal" voices to resonate, despite some level of censorship and surveillance. The primary goal is not necessarily to seek assistance from Western countries but rather to preserve the art, culture, and history of culturally marginalized states within the existing framework dominated by a more powerful authoritarian neighbor.
During the Ukraine-Russian War, Russia attempted to erase Ukrainian identity and culture, with art being a primary target, leading to the destruction of many art museums and artworks in Ukraine. For instance, approximately 25 works by the renowned Ukrainian painter Maria Oksentiyivna Primachenko were tragically lost to flames. Maria was a self-taught artist known for her work in naïve folk art. Themes of peace, independence, and resistance frequently inspired her creations. Many of her pieces incorporated traditional Ukrainian ornaments and floral symbols like periwinkles and sunflowers. Maria's iconic status as a Ukrainian artist stemmed from her use of bold, vivid colors, advocacy for peacemaking and resistance ideologies, and her embodiment of Petrykivka style painting. Notably, Maria's powerful painting from 1982, titled "A Dove Has Spread Her Wings and Asks for Peace," has become a symbol of hope and peace during the tumultuous conflict with Russia. The subject of the work resonated with the agony and despair felt during the conflict.
Furthermore, another contemporary Ukrainian artist, Varvara Logvyn, has also utilized her art to showcase and reinforce Ukrainian identities and culture, pushing back against Russia's hegemonic cultural influence. In her practice, Logvyn depicted the anti-tank hedgehog adorned with Petrykivka painting. Following the full-scale invasion on February 24, 2022, the anticipation of Russian encroachment led to the installation of formidable steel structures known as "hedgehogs" across various regions of Ukraine. These imposing spiked beams, originally used by the Soviet Union in World War II to impede Nazi tanks, served as a stark reminder of her nation's vulnerability rather than providing a sense of security.
Originally decorating homes, the unique brush strokes depicting vibrant flowers and birds evolved into a quintessential aspect of Ukrainian folk culture. Logvyn dedicated nearly a decade to mastering this technique, utilizing traditional tools like paintbrushes made from cat and squirrel hair. The intricate and time-intensive Petrykivka painting, characterized by classic floral patterns, conveys a historical narrative of Ukrainian identity. Widely regarded as emblematic of Ukraine, this art form uses natural symbols to capture the nation's spirit, vibrancy, and unique heritage passed down through generations. Logvyn's work not only symbolizes the Ukrainian spirit but also serves as a tangible cultural record documenting the events in Ukraine since 2022. Exposure of her work to Western media has brought these narratives into the discourse of Western Europe.
Liliia's concern lies in the prospect of Ukraine mirroring the path of Belarus. Similarly, certain Hong Kong artists are dedicated to safeguarding their identity, culture, and history as residents of Hong Kong. For example, Kacey Wong, a Hong Kong artist currently living in exile in Taiwan, utilizes his art to champion freedom and oppose the encroachment of communist China in the region. In 2014, amidst the gradual erosion of political liberties following years of distinction, Wong combined his artistic skills with protest art to push back against the rising authoritarian rule. After completing his education in the United States and Australia, Wong initially pursued a career in architecture but later decided to further his artistic ambitions through studies in the United Kingdom.
By 2010, he increasingly turned to protest art: in his performance piece "Hongkongese Warning Squad," where participants dressed as law enforcement officers, Wong employed symbolic gestures by displaying placards reminiscent of cautionary signs used by the Hong Kong police during protests. These signs bore messages such as "Love the Party," referencing the Chinese Communist Party; "Fake Commie"; "Party-State," symbolizing China's singular political regime; "Reddening," representing communist influence; "Land Grabbing," addressing land appropriation for the Northeast New Territories development project; and "Corruption," denouncing the abuse of sovereignty. Subsequent to the demonstration, images of Wong's artwork quickly gained momentum on social media platforms. Maureen Nienaber, a Facebook user, commented, "This artwork signifies protest through art and performance, showcasing one of the boldest and most rebellious expressions witnessed in Hong Kong." Once again, social media platforms have become pivotal for artists and creators in preserving their cultural heritage and history, documenting significant events that occur under oppressive regimes as dominant powers attempt to erase and rewrite them.
In addition to Wong, another contemporary artist from Hong Kong, Luke Ching, has employed art as a means of documenting and reflecting on the city's rich history of protest. Based in Hong Kong, Ching is both a conceptual artist and labor advocate. Their artistic approach challenges conventional perceptions of the roles of artist and viewer, injecting humor into their work as a response to the prevailing cultural and political tensions within the regime. In his creation from 2019 titled "Panic Disorder," a year marked by significant social turmoil, Ching introduced a sculpture of cockroaches on the ground alongside a new six-minute video piece in his exhibition. The video depicts Ching's hands meticulously crafting these sculptures, interwoven with rapid images of law enforcement, addressing the derogatory labeling of dissenters as "cockroaches" by the police—a dehumanizing tactic borrowed from the Nazis during World War II.
"Cockroaches are a common sight in Hong Kong, often seen before a typhoon hits. However, I have a deep fear of them," Ching shared in an interview with Vivienne Chow, an art columnist. "These sculptures are based on my imagined perception of a cockroach, rather than a realistic portrayal. We construct an image to confront our fears. This parallels what the police are doing. Their fear is not of the protesters, but of their own actions—using excessive force against unarmed demonstrators. They dehumanize them to justify their brutality." Ching's work effectively documents and addresses the events and issues that unfolded in Hong Kong in 2019, encapsulating numerous poignant memories of the region. Regrettably, in a hypothetical scenario, his art could face political oppression, censorship, or removal if exhibited today. The distressing suppression of freedom of speech and expression has further encroached upon artistic liberty, ushering in a new era of single-party dominance and uniformity of voice within the social framework. One of the motivations behind introducing these talented Ukrainian and Hong Kong artists to the Goldsmiths community is to create a tangible record outside the confines of states currently threatened by cultural obliteration, with the hope that their art and cultural heritage will be safeguarded.
Ethical Obligations of a Global Citizen in Today’s World
In today's global landscape, there exist regions still shackled by oppression and hegemonic dominance from their neighboring states. Tragically, this stifling grip often extends to the suppression of local histories, with historians facing imprisonment or even assassination. One approach to safeguarding these invaluable narratives of art and culture involves sharing them with other nations, frequently those in the Western countries. While this method may carry colonial undertones and spark controversy, it remains a prevalent practice in our contemporary world.
As denizens of comparatively more compassionate societies, we bear a collective responsibility to remain cognisant of the struggles unfolding in distant corners of the globe. Particularly us in the art and cultural sector, individuals wield a unique power to champion the preservation of precious artifacts, heritage, and traditions. By leveraging this influence, we can become stewards of history and guardians of cultural legacies that might otherwise face erasure.
In my contemplation following the completion of this article, a myriad of seemingly unanswerable and conflicting questions linger in my thoughts: How might we dismantle the entrenched historical and political hierarchies that persist in our contemporary world? What strategies should cultural workers employ as they navigate diverse global landscapes and disparate social frameworks? If a definitive acknowledgment of true land stewards were to emerge, could this revelation alter my ethical principles and approach to the tragic phenomena of cultural erasure? Furthermore, in what ways do the cumulative knowledge accrued over time influence our perceptions of the tasks we undertake in our respective fields of work?
