russian colonialism 101: about how i was wrong.
Let's talk about colonial gaze in Ukraine news coverage. And how I helped to legitimize it.
Russian Colonialism 101 is the first newsletter to enlighten you about Russian colonialism. The opening essay is public; the curated reading lists are behind the paywall. Your paid subscription will power my mission to mainstream awareness about Russian colonialism.
A new year, a new me, right? I’d like it for myself. Unfortunately, until the Russian fascist empire is around, there’s little chance for new beginnings for a Ukrainian. But owning your past mistakes and learning from them is part of the decolonization journey, too. So that’s exactly what I am going to do with this year’s last newsletter: I will come clean to you about stupid things I did when I was covering Eastern Europe for Western newsrooms.
You may wonder why would I talk about problematic coverage of former Russian colonies by Western newsrooms in the newsletter about Russian colonialism? Actually, I am convinced it is integral to understanding why Russian colonialism stayed hidden in plain sight for so many generations. This personal story is also a good practical illustration of how colonialism can mess a person up.
Next year, it will be 22 years since I became a journalist. And I spent more than half of this journey explaining and covering my home region to the outside world. Tragically, most of this coverage was driven by the “Ukraine / Eastern Europe is fucked up” narrative. Not that Ukraine did not have any problems. It had tons. Plus, critical analysis is a crucial part of journalism’s public service. However, in my case, it was manipulative, one-sided, and trauma-driven coverage. Discriminated for being queer, poor, and with an identity severely misshaped by colonialism, I was lashing out at fellow victims of abuse instead of the abuser.
I thrived on all kinds of contrarian nonsense: don’t arm Ukraine because it is corrupt, don’t support Ukraine because it is homophobic, don’t empathize with Ukraine because it is far-right. Every lame anti-Ukrainian trope out there, I tried it.
Many Ukrainians really hated my reporting. Some will never forgive me for it. But other Western reporters and editors loved it. Quite quickly, I became a hot item and one of the most prominent English-speaking journalists reporting on Eastern Europe. I’d be accepted to the circle of Western parachute reporters. Western editors would chase after me. For a Ukrainian kid coming from nothing, that would get my validation levels off the charts.
During some self-reflection episodes, I’d wonder why so many Ukrainians think my reporting sucks? But then internalized inferiority would kick in, and I’d assure myself that Western reporting standards are superior; this is the price you pay for being “unbiased,” and Ukrainians are just too “backward” to get it.
But as my journey of connecting with my true self progressed, my decolonization grew more robust, and I became a more grown-up person — that kind of narrative-driven reporting ended up below my standards. I’ve realized how wrong it is.
Guess what happened next?
That bubble of Western parachute reporters quickly pushed me out, western editors stopped liking my pitches, and I started losing gigs right and left. The topics I wanted to amplify had zero demand from Western newsrooms. Criticizing the colonial gaze of Western coverage of Eastern Europe was ‘being ungrateful.’ Pushing for Russian colonialism awareness was ‘ridiculous’ and ‘far-fetched.’ Focusing on solution journalism that centers empowering stories ‘would not sell.’
At first, I felt confused. Am I a shitty journalist? Am I not a good writer? Am I in the wrong profession?
I decided to leave reporting and concentrate on less public work of supporting fellow journalists across the region. However, the more I met indigenous journalists like myself and the more we compared the receipts, the clearer a particular pattern became. A pattern of a patronizing colonial gaze. A pattern of narrative-driven culture of Western coverage of Ukraine. I found out that it certainly did not start with me. Take the Walter Duranty debacle of 1932 at the New York Times, for example, when a Western journalist received a Pulitzer for parroting Russian propaganda and denying one of the worst genocides in human history.
This ‘gaze’ took a darker shade in 2022 with the new genocide in Ukraine.
‘While navigating the turbulent first weeks of the full-scale war in Lviv, I was called upon to speak on air to dozens of media, from Al Jazeera English to the BBC, CNN, and NTD. In these interviews, I was usually paired with an international expert who would provide an objective analytical framework to my emotional first-hand experience. My accounts of Ukrainian defiance would be “balanced” with my counterpart’s suggestion of Ukraine’s inevitable fall. I was a patriotic local woman, naively demanding to sanction the hell out of Russia and provide Ukrainians with the means of defending ourselves and shielding the rest of the world from what Russia was capable of unleashing upon it. My usually male Western counterpart provided a “realistic” antidote to my impassioned speeches; he was prepared to list Russian military capabilities and Ukrainian deficiencies,’ writes Ukrainian thinker Dr. Sasha Dovzhyk in her powerful essay where she calls out ‘credibility deficit’ that Ukrainians are facing in the Western coverage and thick layers of preconceived (and false!) notions it is enveloped with.
Another toxic aspect of this ‘gaze’ is that it is deeply centered in the imperial worldview. ‘Every time I’m invited to speak about Ukraine, I notice an unmistakable pattern of discussion: sooner or later (usually sooner), someone asks me to talk about Russia,’ writes Ukrainian historian Olesya Khromeychuk in her must-read essay on distorted Western public conversations about Ukraine. “To truly understand Ukraine, we need to listen to Ukrainians talk about themselves in their own words and on their own terms. We must trust them with their knowledge of themselves and challenge our own imperialist worldview. After all, it is the habit of listening to a ‘great power’ that has led us to focus on the perpetrator when we should be focusing on the nations it is attacking. It has led us to confuse Russia with the country we wish it were rather than the one it really is and pushed us to focus our energies on ensuring Russia’s survival rather than preparing for its demise.”
But things are changing. More Ukrainian journalists have larger platforms where they can be authentic and amplify their reporting without Western establishment gate-keepers. More stellar Ukrainian journalism is done in English and other foreign languages. Projects run by Ukrainians amplifying unfiltered Ukrainian voices globally are getting millions in reach.
There are also more and more Western journalists - especially with diverse backgrounds – who do stellar reporting about Ukraine with a sensitivity to nuance and respect for indigenous voices and stories.
But there are still too many who tread the old paths.
Why is it important to call this out? Because this kind of journalism is not just borderline misinformation, it costs actual lives. Because the survival of Ukrainians depends on the rest of the world not only hearing them but understanding them, too. Because journalists with a thick layer of colonial gaze instead of empathy torpedo the future of journalism.
The last two years proved that we have the real collective power to ensure they don’t have good gigs or jobs until they change their ways.
If I changed, then so can they.
here is what's in store for you this week:
Russia is and has always been a settler colonialism empire
How Moscovites became ‘Russians’ by stealing Ukrainian identity
The messianic ideology of Russian colonialism
Russia’s ‘decolonization’ campaign in the 1920s was another lie to excuse the plunder of indigenous people
curious for more? let's go.