Does university discourse shape public opinion? And can the discourse of humanitarian and cultural institutions influence military planning? Today, I will attempt to answer these questions by examining one of the most unexpected yet all-encompassing trends in this context — the issue of decolonization.
In my view, however, this issue has become particularly complex in Ukraine. Here, in order to communicate with society, the authorities have traditionally sought a support group and, by relying on it, have opposed not only an external enemy but also certain groups within the population who, by their nature, are not enemies of Ukraine. Rather, these groups are oriented toward creating something that goes beyond a strictly national Ukrainian framework and are not solely focused on confrontation with Russia or the promotion of national-patriotic ideas.
Yet the ideological tool chosen by the current Ukrainian government is not aimed at maintaining a national-patriotic spirit. It is directed at only one thing: ridding Ukraine of part of its own culture in the name of fighting Russia.
Next, I would like to trace this troubling stance in the state’s communication with its people by examining various aspects of the struggle for the country’s future. In Ukraine’s case, especially during wartime, this struggle is not only about a brighter future — it is also about national survival.
I will draw on political essays and interviews by critics well known in Ukraine and abroad — the philosopher popular among intellectuals, Andrii Baumeister, and the military analyst who formerly worked in President Zelensky’s administration, Oleksiy Arestovych.
Culture and Art
Beyond routine gestures of decolonization — such as renaming streets and dismantling monuments — a quieter and, in my view, far more dangerous trend is gaining momentum: the erasure from public memory of those Ukrainians who do not fit the current ideology.
Many of them did not openly fight for the Ukrainian idea as it is understood today. Some spoke Russian as their native language. Others were ethnically Russian — yet their contributions to the development of Kyiv or Kharkiv were essential.
They were not enemies of Ukraine. Yet it is precisely these individuals who are increasingly excluded from history as inconvenient.
As Baumeister notes, contemporary interpretations often resemble Soviet practices: names are preserved, but the substance of a person’s ideas or writings is omitted.
He points to the example of Dmytro Havrylovych Bibikov, who served as Kyiv’s military governor from 1837. Bibikov played a major role in the development of women’s education, built the women’s institute that still stands today, cared for orphans, established the central archive, and created a temporary commission to review ancient documents. Despite these contributions, he remains absent from Ukraine’s historical topography — a reflection, Baumeister argues, of narrow and impoverished thinking.
Another phenomenon now branded as decolonization within current Ukrainian ideology is the removal of major European cultural figures from Ukraine’s public space. Composers such as Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff are being excluded from theatre repertoires.
At the same time, the dismantling of monuments and the banning of Russian classics are often internally associated with resisting the brutality of the Russian army. This logic has given rise to the popular but deeply flawed argument that if everyone spoke Ukrainian, there would be no war.
Baumeister observes that many Ukrainians understandably struggle to hear the Russian language or encounter names such as Pushkin or Tchaikovsky, as these trigger painful emotional associations. The critical question, however, is who creates these associations and who links a composer like Tchaikovsky to a missile striking a children’s hospital in Kyiv.
In this way, collective emotion becomes a political instrument whose influence during wartime can have serious long-term consequences. Culture begins to erode, and a sense of futility takes hold. Even a complete ban on Russian language and culture will not stop the Russian army. Society is temporarily unified around emotional trauma, but the underlying wound remains unhealed, and Ukraine risks losing part of its cultural depth.
Universities
University lecturers are increasingly pressured to conform to ideological trends. Refusal to participate may negatively affect professional careers or even pose personal risks.
According to Baumeister, professors find themselves pressured from both sides — university administrations and activist student groups.
The spread of this temporary ideology threatens the continuity of Ukraine’s inherited university tradition. Baumeister addresses these concerns in his video The Free Philosopher. Farewell to the University, marking the end of his teaching career: 31 years at Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, 20 years at the Thomas Aquinas Institute, and eight years at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy.
These experiences suggest that decolonization now dominates the cultural and academic space. It is no longer presented as one perspective among many, but as the only acceptable worldview. This dynamic, moreover, is not unique to Ukraine.
Military Strategy
Lieutenant Colonel Oleksiy Arestovych confirms that decolonization has begun to influence military decision-making. During prolonged stalemates at the front, society demands clarity and action. Instead of addressing these demands through rational explanation and honest dialogue, leadership often resorts to symbolic gestures meant to demonstrate a break with the Soviet past.
Such gestures may temporarily satisfy public expectations, but they do not resolve operational deadlock. Arestovych argues that the transition from a divisional system to a corps system was driven less by military efficiency than by symbolic considerations. This shift, he suggests, is harmful because it contradicts the resources, experience, and traditions actually available.
Political Ontology
The ideological foundation of the American nation rests on the concept of the City upon a Hill — the idea of serving as a moral and practical example for the world. Ukraine, by contrast, lacks a comparable ideological core rooted in its own history. Instead of developing a guiding idea carried forward from Kievan Rus and enriched by centuries of experience, the country has embraced decolonization as its primary framework.
Arestovych argues that Ukraine’s state ideology is built almost entirely on opposition to Putin’s regime, with little emerging beyond this reactive narrative.
This reflects a broader pattern in which decolonial discourse replaces one external reference point with another. Political thinking becomes defined by rejection rather than creation. The national idea is shaped by constant reaction instead of deep reflection on identity. Culture, in turn, becomes a battlefield rather than a space for growth.
Conclusion
The Ukrainian version of decolonial discourse carries serious risks for national identity — the foundation of unity and the capacity for self-defense, first at the philosophical level and later within military planning.
Step by step, it erases a complex cultural heritage formed through centuries of intertwined ethnic origins and cultural traditions, potentially leading to intellectual and spiritual exhaustion.
Universities lose autonomy, culture loses depth, and society loses its resilience against manipulation and its ability to reflect critically. Under the banner of decolonization and liberation, Ukraine risks losing precisely what it seeks to defend: a broad, multifaceted, and genuinely European Ukrainian identity.
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The original version of this article was first published in VoegelinView. I. V. Ganpantsura is a writer in political philosophy who develops ideas within conservative ideology in his works. Ilya also hosts a political philosophy podcast, “The Right Sail Show,” in which he popularizes his ideas. Site: https://ilyaganpantsura.
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