Letter From Moscow

As I write this letter, the shock and pain of “24th February”, which began with missile strikes on Ukraine, has yet to pass. We are learning about the tragic events - which, on President Putin's orders, changed the lives and work of our Ukrainian colleagues overnight - thanks to continued direct contact and some online meetings, including a meeting with the friends of the Ukrainian Psychoanalytical Society. Many of them had to flee with their families under fire and missile attack as the war zones reached their homes - which were appallingly destroyed, along with their towns - only to continue working in radically altered circumstances, or to rise in defence of their country. This whole time, it is impossible not to think about them, not to be filled with horror at what is happening to them and their loved ones, and also not to be astounded by their courage and resilience.

The focus of this letter is the current situation of psychoanalysis in Moscow, and more broadly in Russia, as I myself observe it, experience it and understand it. I must immediately emphasize that my letter is not written in the name of any particular society, institute or group of colleagues. I am exclusively expressing my own views, which may be subjective or selective, and may not coincide with the positions of my colleagues. I feel that I must emphasize this, so I am not leaving anybody open to attack, particularly in light of the rapidly changing Russian legislation of late, which has - in relation to the so-called “special military operation” in Ukraine - substantially curtailed freedom of speech in general and even the freedom to use certain words, such as “war”, “invasion” and so on.

In the Russian language, the word “peace” - as it was used in the era of Leo Tolstoy (even in the titles of various editions and tomes of his War and Peace) could be written with two different spellings and correspondingly has two meanings: (1) “peace” (“миръ”) as an absence of