Concrete Ghosts: Should Ukraine Save Its Soviet Modernism?

Ukrainians are grappling with a complex issue: balancing the removal of Soviet symbols and the preservation of the country's architectural and monumental heritage. The vast array of Soviet-era art and structures, from mosaics and research institute "flying saucers" to bus stations and palaces of culture, carries significant cultural value, despite the ideological baggage it carries.

The central misunderstanding in this debate, argues Volodymyr Kuznetsov, a communications specialist and expert at the United Ukraine Think Tank, is to view Soviet-era modernism as inherently imposed, when in reality, the majority of these works were created by Ukrainian artists operating within a state-mandated system. It's this internal resistance that often goes unrecognized, as artists like Alla Horska and Valerii Lamakh embedded subtle dissent into their work, a nuance that post-Soviet critics later interpreted as loyalty rather than resistance.

This is why developers and local authorities often dismiss such works as mere Soviet remnants, failing to see the distinct engineering and artistic value behind them. Kuznetsov identifies a paradox in Ukrainian discourse: while the 2015 decommunization law formally targeted Lenin monuments and street names, it failed to explicitly protect architectural heritage, leading to the implicit destruction of mosaics, reliefs, and sculptures without formal legal repercussions.

Roughly 30 mosaics in Kyiv alone have been registered as protected monuments, but more are needed. A case in point is Kyiv's Dytiachyi Svit department store, whose modernist facade sparked public outcry when a new owner proposed its complete replacement. This led to an architectural competition, and the winning design managed to preserve the historic facade while integrating it into new construction.

Kuznetsov situates Ukraine's dilemma within a broader post-socialist pattern, noting that neighboring countries present cautionary tales rather than straightforward solutions. While East Berlin's Palace of the Republic was demolished under a new government ostensibly due to asbestos, leading to the construction of a Prussian-style palace — a decision criticized for erasing the country's history — Kyiv's flying saucer on Lybidska Square was saved through years of activism and added to the heritage register in 2020.

This preservation, legally blocking demolition, is seen as a victory for Ukrainian modernism. Moreover, Kuznetsov highlights the shift in framing Ukrainian modernism as a global architectural phenomenon, through projects like photographer Dmytro Soloviov's 'Ukrainian Modernism,' which has garnered international attention and funding opportunities.

The key takeaway, Kuznetsov argues, is not the origin of these structures — whether they were built under the Soviet Union — but their creators' identities, their broader artistic and engineering significance, and whether they should be lost without further consideration.