“Heritage is Memory”

A protestor with a sign reading ‘Landmark status for Kvity’. All images belong to the author

The residents realised something was wrong when the grapevine turned yellow. An entire wall of the five-storey building, draped summer after summer in a curtain of shimmering leaves that had hung, roof to pavement, for thirty years, had suddenly started to wither. It was early June. The chestnuts were in full-bloom and summer in Kyiv was well under way. And yet the iconic grapevine on Sichovykh Striltsiv was turning yellower by the day. The plant had been cut at its root. 

The building was ‘Kvity Ukrainy’, or ‘Flowers of Ukraine’. Designed by renowned Ukrainian architect Mykola Levchuk in the 1980s, its cascading shape and distinct grapevine-covered façade made the modernist structure an unmistakable landmark on this central-Kyiv thoroughfare. 

When unauthorised developers drove bulldozers onto the site and tore down Kvity’s façade, hoping to turn the building into office blocks, locals flocked to defend it. They staged peaceful protests and laid sunflowers on the demolition machines, refusing to leave Kvity unguarded until city authorities granted the building protected status. The residents were, after months of sustained public pressure, successful. 

Speaking about heritage protection now, in 2022, the success of Kyiv residents in protecting Kvity Ukrainy feels like a lifetime ago. One year on, members of the grassroots organisation ‘Save Kvity Ukrainy’ have turned to urgent humanitarian work and open-source investigations, collecting photo and video evidence from the epicentres of war. 

As architectural historian Ievgeniia Gubkina says, ‘It’s hard to talk about heritage when people are being killed. But heritage is not just bricks and walls. Heritage is memory.’ 

Ukraine’s cultural heritage is facing an existential threat of unthinkable proportions. The list of targeted museums, libraries, archives and other historically significant sites, often located miles from any militarily strategic positions, makes the intent behind Russia’s war terrifyingly clear. 

As Ukraine’s Minister of Culture, Oleksander Tkachenko, has repeatedly expressed: ‘Putin is fighting against our culture, against our history. They want to destroy the identity of Ukrainians, which is expressed in our heritage.’ 

I spoke to some of the activists who were involved in protecting Ukraine’s cultural heritage before February 2022 to see how their priorities and aims have shifted. 

‘Since the beginning of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, our focus, like that of all Ukrainians, has changed greatly. All efforts were focused on protecting relatives and friends, on supporting the army,’ says Lesia, a member of Save Kvity. ‘So far, some members of our team have returned to the initiative – not without the support of citizens, of course. Residents have recently organized a clear-up near Kvity, removing rubbish and planting flowers around the building.’

Local initiatives like Save Kvity are well-established across Ukraine. After the Maidan protests in 2013-14, the possibilities for grassroots activism expanded significantly and many new organisations emerged. Mostly, these were focused on supporting the Ukrainian army and helping displaced persons from war-affected Donbas. In subsequent years many turned their attention to urbanism and other cultural initiatives.

‘Our friends from the NGO Renovation Map,’ Lesia tells me, ‘have been taking care of architectural monuments since the invasion.’ Before the war, Renovation Map campaigned for the rescue of iconic buildings at risk of being demolished because of unregulated development. Since the war began, it has been protecting Ukraine’s built heritage from the threat of Russian shelling. Saving the beautiful stained-glass windows of Kyiv’s funicular station has been a major success. In just two days, Renovation Map raised enough money for a team of restorers and professional climbers to mount protective shields around the stained-glass windows, which are particularly vulnerable to shockwaves and debris.

Activists were determined to protect the station’s unique modernist architecture for its significant heritage value. Ukrainian modernism, which flourished in several waves throughout the twentieth century, was caught at a complex crossroads between the assertion of national culture – long suppressed in the Russian Empire – and forced participation in shaping the nascent Soviet project. Ukrainian culture of this period is characterised by hybridity, exploration of identity, and radical formal experimentation. In addition to innovations in art, literature, theatre and music, Ukraine asserted its identity in unique architectural designs spanning the full range of ‘isms’ – modernism, post-modernism, constructivism and brutalism. Soviet authorities encouraged designs that reflected state policy and carried propagandistic messages, but many Ukrainian artists and architects refused to conform, producing alternative, original, and often outstanding pieces. 

And yet, attitudes towards the architecture of this period remain divided in Ukraine. When attempting to justify to my Ukrainian flatmate, back in 2021, why I would be attending a rally in support of Kvity’s protection, I was met with bewilderment: ‘But it’s Soviet. The country has moved on. We don’t need those things anymore.’ 

According to Artur Korniienko, many of the architects and activists fighting for the protection of Soviet-era buildings weren’t yet born or were just children in the final years of the Soviet Union, so they don’t associate this architecture with political repressions or breadlines. ‘For them, it’s just form and function.’

For others, Ukraine’s modernist heritage is worth protecting precisely because of its history. 

‘The key word here is "heritage"’, Lesia notes. ‘Ukrainians remember and study their history. Yes, it has been tragic in recent centuries. Contrary, and often due to this, Ukrainian culture has always been developing. Ukrainian modernism is, first of all, the architecture of our parents.’ 

Kvity Ukrainy

In 2015, Ukraine passed a series of memory laws, including instructions for the official removal of communist monuments and propaganda symbols. These laws came on the back of a spontaneous, process, the so-called ‘Leninopad’ (Leninfall), which saw the destruction of hundreds of Lenin monuments across the country in the wake of Maidan, the annexation of Crimea, and the beginning of the war in Donbas. Although the ‘decommunisation’ laws do not directly target modernist architecture, many Soviet-era buildings are not listed either, and some experts believe anti-Soviet attitudes have contributed to low levels of public support for their protection. 

Unsurprisingly, many more Soviet-era monuments have been pulled down since Russia’s full-scale invasion. But some heritage protection experts suggest that, however fiercely and justifiably anti-Soviet sentiments are felt, distinctions should be made between symbols of Soviet power and the innovative designs produced by Ukrainian artists, often in defiance of widespread cultural repression. 

As Lesia says, ‘Ukraine existed during the Soviet era and was able to convey its identity through it. We do not associate Kvity Ukrainy with anything Soviet – it is Ukrainian modernism. We still have a lot of work to do on the "brand" of Ukrainian modernism.’

One day last June, as activists were keeping watch to protect Kvity from further demolition, a passer-by asked: ‘Why did you tear down monuments to Lenin during the Revolution of Dignity, but now you are protecting Soviet buildings?’ 

Lesia responded by acknowledging the complexity of the issue: ‘For us, this building is primarily the work of Mykola Levchuk, a Ukrainian architect. Can we separate this building from Soviet ideology as we separate the works of Ukrainian writers, artists or scientists of the time? Do we see the Soviet legacy in buildings of modernism? There are many questions and we are in the process of finding answers to them.’ 

Successive Ukrainian governments have long grappled with these questions. As a result of the war, of course, discussions have turned from how to protect heritage from unregulated development, to how buildings should be re-built or restored following widespread destruction by Russian shelling. Some heritage experts are concerned that, in the desire to re-build cities and infrastructure as quickly as possible, not enough attention will be given to the proper restoration of historic buildings. 

‘After the war, we will need temporary, quick solutions, but we should also think about what we want to see in our cities in ten, twenty, fifty years. The desire to rebuild the country quickly should not affect the quality of this reconstruction,’ says Lesia.   

Until then, Save Kvity and other heritage protection organisations will continue providing urgent, on-the-ground support to those who need it most, purchasing and transporting medical supplies, and setting up shelters for those escaping frontline territories. 

‘We sincerely believe in the men and women who defend us. The war will end in victory. We must not allow war to paralyse our activities. We must keep on living, keep on working, keep on lending our support.’