"Don't be silent!" — Mukavozchyk's cry in the desert. Because an artist and a writer must be moved by something

Andrei Mukavozchyk. Photo: Zviazda

What to bring to the masses?

"Nasha Niva" drew attention to a peculiar article in "LiM" that aimed to be "programmatic," and even attempted to summarize it briefly. The gist: the author tries to shame writers, artists, theater figures, and other creatives within the state system for their silence. He argues that the state has given them "everything," yet their voices are unheard.

This is a text difficult to grasp, with biblical narratives, Tolstoy, Lenin, and the Red Army appearing almost every other line.

It's even harder to understand who the target audience is that's supposed to read this, feel shamed, get inspired, and then go out to the masses. Is it "LiM" readers — in other words, tired aunties aged 55+ from libraries, where the newspaper arrives via state subscription and is later used to line boots in the hallway during winter?

What to bring to the masses? That's also unclear. Is it to campaign for "Nado!" (meaning "We must!"), or simply to go and talk? About anything. Mukavozchyk calls for at least some discussion: about Haidukevich, Kanapatskaya, Khizhniak. He implies, "Just say something, anything! Don't be silent!" In other words, the elections proved so uninteresting that merely a few words about them are deemed necessary?

Mukavozchyk's complaint is entirely understandable. The man has gotten involved in all of this up to his ears, for which he receives both "perks" and curses. Yet others receive perks (studios, honorariums, platforms) but haven't gotten deeply involved — not even knee-deep. So, if things suddenly change, they'll be clean. Annoying? Yes, annoying. A mess? Of course.

The Example of Ales Bazhko — Collaboration with the Authorities and Poems in Belarusian

Recall the times when a poet simply couldn't release collections without including a couple of poems about Stalin, Lenin, and the Party. An artist couldn't be a top figure if they didn't paint partisans and milkmaids — even if just a little, it was a "must-have." There were, of course, professionals, for instance, Ales Bazhko. He wrote poetry and for a time headed the Kupala Museum. However, he is remembered for his pamphlet "Total Bankruptcy," in which he lambasted Belarusian bourgeois nationalists.

Bazhko also had an artistic-documentary collection (making it hard to distinguish between fact and fiction) titled "Living Ghosts." What was it about? The struggle for Soviet power in Western Belarus against "the mad remnants of the bloody Hitlerite 'new order' regime, crazed with anti-Sovietism and anti-socialism, and Polish Sanation." It's clear that Bazhko worked in close contact with the state security organs, yet he still managed to write some poems in Belarusian. Today, even that is impossible to imagine.

Павялічыць

No Art and Recognizable Style

Throughout this entire period — since 1994 — no literature, not even weak attempts, has emerged about the exploits of the police, cunning Polish spies, BRSM youth construction brigades, or the arduous work of deputies. Nothing — zero. In terms of painting, you won't recall anything beyond Svetlana Zhyhimont's psychedelic works. Cinema is the same story. As for music, what's there apart from the Hruzdzieva sisters? Even the hits "Listen to Dad" and "Sania Will Stay With Us" date back to 2006 and 2010. After that — silence.

One can quite rightly criticize the BSSR, but — it did have art, literature, theater, opera, and cinema. With the searing brand of ideology and censorship, of course. But it existed. For instance, I'm not a fan of Dantsig's or Savitsky's paintings, and I'll never listen to "Pesniary" or re-read Melezh. I don't want to. But one cannot say that it wasn't art. There was a style to all of it.

No art or discernible style has ever truly developed in today's Republic of Belarus. This means that representatives of the creative intelligentsia — and I agree with Mukavozchyk — are, in the eyes of the state, freeloaders. But the tragedy of all these Mukavozchyks is that they cannot grasp that an artist and a writer must be moved by something. Some phantom national-communism or the pathos of the struggle for Soviet power… Anything at all.

This isn't a gathering of people whom you can shower with certificates and studios, expecting them to produce a quota. They won't. And if they do, the product will be so bad that it would be better if it didn't exist at all.

Therefore, the newspaper "LiM," whether in color or black and white, on ordinary paper or glossy, will end up exactly where it belongs: under boots in the hallway. Because its primary task isn't to provoke discussion or inspire, but to protect the old parquet from sand and slush.

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