Should we boycott Russian culture?

Let’s not shy away from big words: Russia is a state sponsor of terrorism. Condemning its military aggression is a stance that must be taken unequivocally. Yet, as we dig deeper, complex dilemmas emerge, and among them is the following: how should we treat Russian culture in this context? A culture rich in history, literature, and music—yet belonging to an aggressor state. This is where opinions diverge: some advocate for completely avoiding Russian culture, while others ignore the country of origin to focus on artistic value, relying upon the principle of separating the art from the artist. But can we really isolate the art from the country it represents?

From a historical standpoint, boycotting a culture may seem like an attempt to undermine its artistic progress. Traditions developed over centuries, disconnected from modern political landscapes. Many acclaimed Russian artists—Dostoyevsky, Tchaikovsky and the like—lived in a vastly different time. Why should their art be “punished” for modern Russia’s war crimes?

However, the problem lies not in individual artists but in the way Russian culture has been historically weaponized as a tool of soft power. The myth of its great culture was reinforced by successive governments, and even modern Russian society continues to bear witness to this. For those on the receiving end of Russian artistic content, celebrating its legacy today risks feeding into that very narrative itself.

To bring a moral perspective in, consider this: how can it be appropriate to hum along to Rachmaninoff, marveling at a “great Russian artist”, while Ukrainians are slaughtered? His genius is unquestionable, but his music, like much of Russian art, is an innate part of the country’s imperial image. In this case, the artist and the state cannot be entirely separated.

Some argue that many contemporary Russian artists oppose the regime, speaking out against the war. Their art certainly deserves recognition, especially given the repercussions they might face. This, however, is only the tip of the iceberg. Russian culture remains widely promoted on the global stage, even when it serves the state’s interests. Artists who comply with Putin’s regime continue to be given a voice. A recent case is the Oscar-winning film “Anora”, featuring a lead actor who has previously played in films that are widely seen to fit into the Kremlin’s patriotic narrative . The film itself carries elements romanticizing Russia, further contributing to the normalization of its culture. “Anora” was not broadcast in Lithuania for these reasons.

Beyond symbolic significance, consuming Russian culture directly means financially supporting Russian artists, whether by watching films, purchasing books, or streaming music. More often than not, this translates to tax revenue for the regime itself.

What we choose to read, watch, or listen to is always, without exemption, a political act. Culture is inherently political in its accessibility , promotion, economic impact, and the messages it conveys. Culture in its essence exists in a context. Even passive consumption reinforces cultural dominance of a country that is actively committing war crimes.

That is not to say that there is no distinction between private and public engagement. One thing is consuming Russian literature at home without publicly proclaiming its inherent greatness. Publicly endorsing Russian culture, insisting there is nothing wrong with consuming it in the current context—is another (I see you, Lithuania Minister of Culture, you who are against “putting a stamp” on Russian artists).

To boycott Russian culture is not about erasing it or undermining its artistic value. There will come a time when it can be appreciated again. But that time is not now. As long as Ukrainian families are torn apart, bodies mangled by bombs, and homes destroyed, the culture of the aggressor should not be consumed and appraised.

Beyond these political and moral implications, this moment in history presents an opportunity. The global artistic landscape devotes a lion’s share of attention to the same cultural powerhouses—Hollywood, anglophone literature, and yes, the myth of the “great Russian artists”. Now is the time to let some fresh air in and expand your cultural horizons. Ukrainian art and literature, for one part, are vastly underexplored.

To go even further, think about non-European creators—language should not be a barrier to artistic discovery. We do read Tolstoy in translation, don’t we? So, take this as a challenge to discover new artistic voices, and consider the political implications of what you consume. After all, we, as political science students, understand better than most the power of taking a stand.