Ukraine | A chronicle of censorship

22 Jul 24 | Germany, News and features, Ukraine

The Babyn Yar massacre is one of the bloodiest atrocities in Ukraine’s dark history. In late September 1941, 33,771 Jewish residents of Kyiv were herded by the Nazis into a ravine (“Babi Yar” in Russian, “Babyn Yar” in Ukrainian) on the outskirts of the city. Over a two-day period, the victims were shot and buried in mass graves as part of what became known as “the Holocaust of Bullets”.

Oleg Chorny’s small-budget feature documentary From Babi Yar to Freedom tells the story of the massacre through the lens of Soviet defector and writer Anatoly Kuznetsov, who first revealed the full scale of the atrocity to the world when he escaped to the UK in 1969. The film was completed in 2017, five years before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, and is an extraordinary tribute to Kuznetsov’s determination to tell the truth in the face of a wall of Soviet censorship and disinformation.

Chorny’s documentary deserves a wide international audience, but in an irony that would not be lost on the dissidents of the 1960s, no one can see it because of a rights dispute over the central archive interview in the film owned by the giant US TV corporation CBS.

In July 1969, shortly after Kuznetsov defected, he gave a lengthy interview to the veteran CBS news journalist Morley Safer in which he opened up about his decision to escape the Soviet Union. Kuznetsov went to London, accompanied by a KGB minder, to research the time Lenin had spent there in 1903, and secretly took with him film containing the text of the full version of his book Babi Yar: A Document in the Form of a Novel, stitched into his clothing. The book is based on eyewitness accounts of the massacre and Kuznetsov’s own boyhood diary.

Now, Chorny has been told that nine minutes of CBS footage from the Kuznetsov interview (freely available on YouTube) will cost $80,000 – more than the budget of the movie. Wazee Digital, a Colorado-based asset management company which negotiates on behalf of CBS, has refused to budge on this fee.
Chorny told Index that the fate of the film and the fate of Kuznetsov were intertwined in his mind. “I’m sorry, you must understand that the story with this film is a sad story for me because it was not released… But if something happened and this movie was released, I think it would be so important, because nothing has changed from these times with the KGB. You can call it the FSB, but it does not matter.”

In the documentary, Chorny follows Ukrainian writer Stanislav Tsalyk as he tracks down traces of Kuznetsov – who died in 1979 – in Kyiv and then in London. Tsalyk travels to the UK with Kuznetsov’s son Olexiy, who remained in the Soviet Union. In one of the most moving scenes, Olexiy stands next to his father’s unmarked grave in Highgate Cemetery. Olexiy, too, has now died without seeing the film released.

The story of Kuznetsov is a classic Cold War tale, but it is much more than that. It is a story about how stories themselves are told, how they can be misrepresented, and how they are suppressed.

Kuznetsov’s Babi Yar has had many lives and suffered multiple rounds of censorship. When it was first published in the Soviet Union in 1966, the censor made cuts that underplayed the suffering of the Jews. In the Soviet narrative, Babi Yar was known as a Nazi act of horror against Soviet citizens. The Jews of Kyiv were thus doubly erased: once literally and then historically. This was not all that was removed from the original text: references to cannibalism during the Ukrainian famine, the Holodomor, where millions died as a direct result of Stalin’s policies, and parallels between fascism and communism were all excised. Anything, in fact, that showed the Soviets as less than heroic.

The whole uncensored version is recognised as a singular masterpiece. The first chapter, Ashes, begins: “This book contains nothing but the truth.” The typefaces of the book reveal its troubled publication history, with the original text in plain type, previously censored passages rendered in bold, and later additions from Kuznetsov in square brackets.

Oddly, this adds to the experience of reading Babi Yar. Its fragmented text suits the battered and broken subject matter.

Take the following passage about Dina Pronicheva, a 30-year-old puppet-theatre actor and survivor of the massacre who later gave evidence against the Nazis. “Dina went across the hillock and sat down. Everybody there was silent, crazed with fright. She was afraid to look up: somebody might recognise her, quite by chance, and cry out: ‘She’s a dirty Jewess!’ These people would stop at nothing to save their own skins. For that reason she tried not to look at anybody, and nobody looked at her. Only an old woman sitting next to her in a fluffy knitted scarf complained quietly to Dina that she had been seeing her daughter-in-law off and had got caught… But she herself was a Ukrainian, she was no Jewess, and whoever thought it would come to this? They had all been seeing people off.”

The censored words in bold give the episode a very different meaning and emotional impact.

When Babi Yar was republished in a Vintage Classics edition in the UK last year under the title Babi Yar: The Story of Ukraine’s Holocaust, it didn’t receive the attention it deserved.

When I talked to Chorny in Kyiv over Zoom, I suggested that this latest episode in the story of the massacre is part of a pattern. I said: “Even if you go back to the origins of the story… This is a story about silence. It’s a story about censorship. It’s a story about not being able to tell the story and so…”

Chorny stopped me and said my interpretation did not go far enough: “Excuse me, this is a story of a totalitarian system which is the same as the Nazi totalitarian system. And this is a story of resistance – Anatoly Kuznetsov’s personal resistance, I mean: to escape to publish the full version in the West.”

Josephine Burton of Dash Arts has been pushing for the release of Chorny’s film since 2021, when her organisation began work on Songs of Babyn Yar, a music and theatre project that used Kuznetsov’s text in the production. Burton, who also championed the cause of the Crimean Tatars in Dash Arts’ 2022 performance Crimea 5am, told Index: “Oleg Chorny’s documentary needs to be seen. It tells a remarkable story, a vital contribution to the history of Ukraine and the Holocaust. This film should not be silenced.”

Chorny has also gained the support of the Koffler Centre in Toronto, which ran a series of events about the Babyn Yar massacre last year, including a Zoom discussion with Chorny and his team.

In the meantime, Chorny describes life in Kyiv: “We are living some kind of surrealistic reality. This is mixed with news from the front from our colleagues and friends. A lot of losses. Especially in the last year, we buried a lot of friends and some colleagues who disappeared on the front line.”

But the director has kept himself busy. Chorny has made a short film, Kyiv in the Days of War, about the aftermath of the Russian attacks in 2022, and three 15-minute films in a series about creativity and the Ukraine conflict: Art in the Land of War. In one of these, If I Stop It Means They Win, sculptor and graphic artist Oleksandr Smyrnov says: “I think that if they prevent me from doing what I’m good at and what I want to do, then they have won. That’s why I’ll keep doing it.”

Two years ago, an appeal to raise money for a headstone for Kuznetsov in Highgate cemetery raised more than $1,300. In another twist in the story, his surviving daughter has not given her permission for it to be erected. The best memorial would be the release of From Babi Yar to Freedom. [CBS was approached for a comment on this story.]

Are we sleepwalking into Orwell’s nightmare?

22 May 24 | Germany, News and features, Russia, United Kingdom

“We are all born free. We all have our own thoughts and ideas, and we should all be treated the same way.”

These words form the first article of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Adopted on 10 December 1948, the document was created to outline and protect every human’s basic right after the bloodshed of the Second World War.

At the same time, George Orwell was completing his classic dystopian novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four; published the following year. While fictional, it painted a radically different vision: “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.”

Following a screening of the final programme of BBC Arena’s series about the life of Orwell, aired in 1984, a panel at WoWFEST: FAHRENHEIT 2024 festival in Liverpool discussed the question: Just how close are we to Orwell’s vision – or are we already there?

Daniel Gorman is director of English PEN, one of the first international bodies that advocated for human rights, of which Orwell was a member. He believes the novel is still key when looking at the challenges facing freedom of expression today: “The book is always relevant but feels particularly feels so with the current creep of authoritarianism. It is a warning.

“It says something about human nature more broadly, about state and power, and as more power is centralised in fewer hands, we could go along with it until we realise it’s too late.”

Against the backdrop of a collapsed Nazi Germany regime and a Soviet Iron Curtain falling across Europe, it was clear who the ideological proponents were around the time of Orwell’s writing. Freedom of expression and human rights campaigner and researcher Sara Whyatt stated now, however, the lines are more blurred.

“We still have the usual suspects like Russia, and Belarus is there, plus situations like now in Georgia with the proposed introduction of the ‘foreign agent’ law in the country.

“It becomes very difficult now though now as it’s an amorphous group of people at play. This is where social media also plays a problematic role”, she added.

Historically seen solely through the lens of states and countries, the destabilising effect of social media on the fight against censorship was a key discussion point in the debate.

“I used to know who to send letters to, and which buildings to protest outside of. Now, I don’t know who the enemy is anymore, and I feel the enemy is all around me through social media. Does that feel real?”, Whyatt continued.

Nineteen Eighty-Four is also about the manipulation of communications, seen now through the difficulty to parse through a barrage of information on social media, with bot farms trying to widely sow confusion with misinformation and disinformation, argued Gorman.

He admitted that social media does sometimes have its positives and gets information out when official sources are limited: “The vast majority of information we’re getting from Gaza is from local journalists through social media, as international journalists haven’t been allowed in, and remember its role in the 2011 Arab Spring also. The problem is always there for information to be abused.”

Dolan Cummings is director of the Manifesto Club, an organisation that challenges what it calls the “hyper-regulation” of public spaces. Like the online space, he believes there’s a problem with freedom of speech and expression in the physical world, citing encroaching laws in the UK.

“I think the view in the UK now is that freedom of association and speech are problems to be managed rather than potential solutions to problems. Not just around political protest but also even bans on things like busking and leafleting are criminalised by public spaces protection orders”, he said.

Naturally a debate concerning a novel also covered the role of censorship against creative expression. Gorman relayed what an exiled author told him when asked why he thought he was targeted in his homeland.

“He said words have power and novels last, and when they work right, they can really upset the workings of power and connect the struggles of human rights. I think we see that with Nineteen Eighty-Four.”

Despite the inspiring words, the panel laid bare both the increasing financial and artistic challenges facing creatives’ freedom of expression in 2024. Whyatt, who is an expert on freedom of artistic expression, explained artistic censorship often involves less obvious, underlying issues.

“Worldwide, governments are strategically placing people they want in broadcasting and cultural institutions, who then choose directly where funding goes.

“There is also self-censorship in the arts too. Venues might like an artist’s work but may reject it due to fear of controversy and a stripping of future funding or grants. In that instance, is it pragmatism or censorship?”

Writer and performance poet Francesca Beard read a poem specially inspired by the Arena documentary and told Index about her fear of AI and tools such as ChatGPT. Although she thinks they have some benefits for her profession, people have to be careful with their use in the future.

She said: “I put my questions into it and see what comes out. It’s good for rhyme and rhythm but it’s very superficial and makes me think ‘well I’m not going to write like that’, so it helps in that way.

“We need human, creative thought though. It’s all our individual responsibility to make sure we’re not too satisfied by it, because if we are then in the future, I’m worried that’s all we’ll be served up for our art.”

There is hope for the future and a chance for humanity to avoid sleepwalking into an Orwellian nightmare, Gorman said, but added financial support is desperately needed.

“We have so many people standing up who value freedom of speech and expression, all really supporting each other, but there needs to be strong investment into things such as civil society, investigative journalism and NGOs, so we can all hold the powerful to account.”

WoWFEST: FAHRENHEIT 2024 continues around Liverpool and online until 30 May 2024

Seeing Auschwitz is a timely reminder of the importance of documenting atrocities

20 Dec 22 | China, FEATURED: Francis Clarke, Germany, News and features, United Kingdom

It was the 80th anniversary on Saturday of the first time the Holocaust was acknowledged in the British House of Commons. On 17 December 1942, Jewish Labour MP Sydney Silverman, who formed a committee to organise Jewish refugee resettlement, asked the Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden to make a statement on the Nazi plan to "deport all Jews from the occupied countries to Eastern Europe and there put them to death before the end of the year.” Eighty years is a long time, but the horror of the Holocaust persists in the public’s consciousness.

The exhibition Seeing Auschwitz, which opened recently in South Kensington, London, focuses on the images which play a large part in our collective perception of the Holocaust. What makes the images in this exhibition unique is that they were predominantly taken by the perpetrators of the Holocaust.

A focus of the exhibition is to try and humanise these images. Blown up large, we are invited to study the small detail for any stories we can see. A farewell embrace, children laughing, a gaze up to the sky.

The pictures in the exhibition were taken over a three-month period in 1944. The clear, more polished photos taken by the Nazis are juxtaposed by a section of the exhibition which shows several snatched photos taken by the Sonderkommando (work units made up of death camp prisoners). One of the photos (it’s not known how they accessed a camera) shows a group of women being forced naked, a hurried snapshot of terror. Drawings made after the war by one of the Sonderkommando gives an insight into the horror of the gas chambers.

One interesting photo is taken by neither perpetrator nor victim. The image, taken by a 14-year-old boy from his bedroom window, shows inmates from Dachau on a death march through his village. It places the horrors of the concentration camp, very rarely, in a normal, suburban setting.

The exhibition reminds us that, with around two million visitors per year, Auschwitz itself isn’t the only place we can understand what happened there. It can also be ‘seen’ in the void - the absence of large Jewish populations, common in towns and cities throughout Europe before the Second World War, which signifies whole generations of people who will never be born.

Attempts to destroy evidence of the Holocaust by the Nazis failed overall. Aside from antisemitic and right-wing conspiracy theorists, the world is clear about what the Holocaust was, and who the perpetrators were.

Similar efforts to bear witness to atrocities continue today. In March 2022, at least 458 people were killed in and around the town of Bucha in Ukraine by the invading Russian Army, which Russia’s UN envoy denied and claimed was a ‘staged provocation’. Journalists and civilians alike collected evidence to prove that was a falsehood. Elsewhere it is not so easy. In a chilling echo of the Holocaust, around five years ago there were reports that China was building internment camps for its Uyghur population, a mainly Muslim ethnic minority living in the far north western region of the country. The Chinese Foreign Ministry publicly denied there was a genocide in 2021; reporters are rarely allowed into the region where the genocide is taking place and when they are, they are often followed and/or their press trips tightly controlled. Those who have left the region are subject to harassment and intimidation, as we reported in our Banned by Beijing report. Still, a growing network of brave individuals are speaking out, journalists are working hard to obtain information and a clear picture of what is taking place is emerging.

Like Sydney Silverman did in 1942, it’s important for organisations like Index on Censorship to pressure those in power to take action against human rights abuses, to support those who are on the frontlines of gathering information and to also fight back against denial in spite of evidence. In an age of misinformation and disinformation, the fear is that evidence of atrocities, like the Bucha and Uyghur genocides, become distorted from the side of the perpetrator. Seeing Auschwitz reminds us to look deeper into what we’re viewing.

Poland: Scholar questioned over claim Poles killed more Jews than they did Germans during World War II

19 Apr 16 | Academic Freedom, Europe and Central Asia, mobile, News and features, Poland

Jan Gross (Princeton)

Jan Gross (Princeton)

A Polish prosecutor has interrogated Jan Gross, a Polish-American professor of history at Princeton University, to determine whether claims he made that Poles “had killed more Jews than the Germans” during World War II constitute a crime.

Insulting the nation is punishable by up to three years in jail in Poland.

"The ability to question established narratives is vital to academic freedom and a free and progressive society," Jodie Ginsberg, CEO of Index on Censorship, said.

Gross, who has researched Polish complicity in the Holocaust, said he was questioned as a witness for five hours on Tuesday 12 April in the district attorney’s office in Katowice but has not been charged with a crime.

Complaints were filed by Polish citizens over Gross' claims, which were made in an article published in Project Syndicate last September. In it, the historian also argued that Poland’s opposition to accepting asylum seekers could be linked to its “murderous past”.

“I said straight out that I was not going to offend the Polish nation,” Gross told the Associated Press regarding his recent questioning. “I tried to make people aware of the problem of refugees in Europe. I’m just telling the truth, and the truth sometimes has the effect of shock on people who previously were not aware of the case.”

In February Index reported that Polish President Andrzej Duda considered stripping Gross of an Order of Merit over his academic work on Polish anti-Semitism. Gross outlined in his 2001 book Neighbors that the massacre of some 1,600 Jews from the Polish village of Jedwabne in July 1941 was committed by Poles, not Nazis.