Ukraine War and Performative Activism
As I scrolled through my university class’ Facebook page in a bored manner the other day, I came upon an invitation to buy tickets for a club night in benefit of the Ukrainian people. The description for the event says that it is “a unique night you will (not) remember, all in the name of [a] worthy cause.” The night will be so special, in fact, that it can officially be branded as a “once in a lifetime opportunity.” As I read this, I rolled my eyes so noticeably that a blind man would have seen it.
I go to a university where balls and charity galas with a de rigueur black-tie dress code are hosted ad nauseam. The list of organizations hosting this particular event is long, ranging from the highly-regarded Polo Club, to the elite and elusive Kate Kennedy Club. Naturally, given the raison d’être of the event, the Ukrainian Club is also listed, albeit in sixth place and in the same font as the other organizations. This whole event epitomizes, in my view, performative activism.
The idea of performative activism was made mainstream during the George Floyd protests in 2020, and it is now a culturally-relevant term that refers to “activism done to increase one’s social capital rather than because of one’s devotion to a cause.”(1) How else can one describe a night of drinking and dancing in the safe hamlet of St Andrews hosted by the university’s wealthiest and most social students than as performative activism? I thought about the numbers: the tickets cost 10 pounds, and the establishment has a capacity of around 360 people; this means that the highest amount of money the event can make is 3600 pounds, assuming that the venue and the complimentary amenities are provided free of charge. Thirty-six hundred pounds isn’t enough to cover even one month of tuition at this university, yet the people planning this event somehow feel like it will make a difference in the lives of people whose homes, livelihoods, and families have been torn apart. This event brings to mind the concept known as noblesse oblige, which refers to the societal and philanthropic responsibilities the nobility feels they must fulfill. It all reminded me of something Mikhail Podoljak, advisor to the head of the cabinet of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, tweeted: “Apparently, it’s a pleasure for our friends to sit in a cozy cafe in Paris, Berlin, New York or Budapest, slowly drinking coffee with a croissant and looking at photographs of Ukrainian cities that are being destroyed at that very moment. But our cities, dying, are still fighting.” In this case, it’s a club instead of a cozy café; vodka instead of coffee; a cigarette instead of a croissant.
A naïve devil’s advocate might say that I ought to support any attempt to act in solidarity with the Ukrainian people, even if the planners do lack a bit of savoir-faire. In fact, he would likely say that the organizers could have chosen any other charity to benefit from the event, or they could have even chosen to pocket the money themselves. In part, I agree, but I nonetheless find it almost appalling to see people with so much social capital and networking capabilities waste their talents and inherited privileges in such an ineffective and insubstantial event, when they could be pressuring politicians, organizing mass protests, or finding ways to raise an actually significant sum of money.
I realize the irony of critiquing an attempt, even if futile and perhaps ungenuine, to do good, all when I’m not doing anything to help the situation myself. However, I take pride in knowing that everything I might do or say regarding this ongoing conflict, however small and unmeaningful, will always be genuine and not to make myself feel better or to satiate a misplaced savior complex.
