“Let me make this perfectly clear. Putin is Emperor Palpatine. The Ukrainian people and all those who stand up for democracy around the world and here in America are Rey Skywalker, Jyn Erso, and the Rebel alliance. Pick your side.”
Put like that, I think I’m with Putin.
This tweet, by former George Bush strategist Matthew Dowd, attracted much amusing scorn at the start of the war between Russia and Ukraine. It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in cringe …
American political commentary has for some time been dominated by pop culture references, in particular those two great modern fables, Star Wars and Harry Potter, which have replaced the classics as the source of communal knowledge. I’m not convinced that children’s books or films aimed at selling toys, enjoyable though they are, have that much to offer in the way of deep wisdom, compared to more ancient texts; I may be a declinist, but it is not commented on enough that America’s most-praised public intellectual didn’t know who St Augustine was.
These epic children’s stories serve as modern-day myths for a reason, drawing so heavily on older narratives and archetypes. Star Wars creator George Lucas studied anthropology and borrowed heroic narratives from around the world for his story; it also drew on historical folk memories of recent and ancient conflicts, in particular the Second World War, which has become the modern West’s origin story, its epic struggle between God and the Devil.
The most recent Lucas trilogy featured a plucky band of rebels in an existential struggle with a great empire (a story that drew heavily on … previous Star Wars films). In this tale of good and evil there was on one side a band of allies from every race on earth, and on the other a group joined by ethnic descent, a dynamic true to life and seen in countless wars and conquests since the Bronze Age. It’s the story of the Old Testament, the Persian Wars, and of such modern conflicts as the Vietnam War.
Yet of course Star Wars performed a role reversal to suit the sympathies of modern American audiences. For in reality, it is empires which are multi-cultural, and plucky rebels who tend to be linked by blood — whether it was ancient Greeks fighting off a Persian army of Medes, Babylonians, Egyptians and Sumerians, or Vietnamese nationalists in combat with French, Senegalese and North African troops.
So it is today in Ukraine, a rebel nation fighting off conquest by a neighbour 50 times its size. Ukraine’s position on the cultural fault lines of Europe has left it a multicultural inheritance, even after the depredations of Hitler and Stalin. Its heroic president Volodymyr Zelenskyy is a member of a 40,000-strong Jewish population, vastly reduced by the horrors of the early 20th century, but still surviving; indeed for three months in 2019 Ukraine had a Jewish president and prime minister, a first outside of Israel and quite an achievement for a supposedly “Nazi” state. There are also Tartars, although many were cut off by Russia’s annexation of the Crimea, having only been allowed back from their central Asian exile in the 1980s. There are Romanians, and, of course, a substantial Russian minority.
Yet these groups are relatively small in number, and Ukraine still has the composition of a typical European nation-state, built around a dominant ethnic group enjoying a super-majority.
Russia, in contrast, is home to around 50 ethnic groups, including — just the European ethnicities with more than half a million people — the Tatars, Bashkir, Chuvash, Mordvins and Udmurts, the latter known for having the reddest hair in the world (their homeland is an eastern outpost in this red hair map of Europe.)
