In the past five days, I have been wondering, more severely than ever before, what is the point of my PhD.
Who cares about my research while people are suffering?
What prevents me from leaving everything behind and picking up something “useful?”
What is the point in all of this?
At the beginning of the pandemic, I could at least sit down with threads, a needle, and a couple of old t-shirts and make provisional face masks to protect my family. This had nothing to do with my research either, of course, but at least the result was immediate and tangible. Now it’s different. I send money, gather resources, help with translations. But still I wish I could be more useful.
I feel a strange kind of personal responsibility. The conflict feels even more petrifying because of my proximity to the region. And also of its chilling resonance to my country’s history. Not only with Russia but also with Germany.
“It is fascinating that at least from the middle of the 20th century, every new generation has had to feel for itself what Kreml really is all about. That it is terrified of people who refuse to live in slavery, that it uses state borders only as navigation signs for its tanks, and for whom a human life does not mean much else than a piece of wood chipped while felling a forest. Moscow does not even care to invent a new scenario. Just as in the past, it made up a story about Russia being under a severe threat, and the necessity to defend itself…” (Translated from Czech. Source: Erik Tabery, editor-in-chief of RESPEKT)
In my research, I focus on art. Subversive art. Rebellious art. Art produced despite or in spite of aggression, hierarchies, or authoritarianism. Art of defiant Czechoslovak souls secretly continuing their work under Soviet occupation. Even if “only” in the underground.
Despite my regional experience, I have been struggling to see the usefulness of my research now. For the past five days or so, I haven’t written a single word or managed to focus on my analysis. My PhD has suddenly felt more like a vanity project than a job. It cannot advice on new policies, help draft security analyses, or provide any information to the initiatives currently operating on the ground.
But today, something changed. Deeply burnout and stressed, I was once again pushing my responsibilities aside to focus on doom-scrolling, while I came across this screenshot of a Twitter post.
Finally, I saw it again.
At our darkest hours, it is art that we turn to for consolation. For relief. For a sense of defiance.
It is art that holds our historical memory. That provides the basis necessary to build our future.
Yes, there are more imminent questions of security, basic needs, and survival. But once those are answered or at least set aside for a moment, we tend to come back to art. Be it either in a global pandemic. Or currently during an armed conflict.
Maybe my research is not useful right now.
But the subversive potency of the movements I am bringing to light will prove its worth. Even if later down the line.
It is still worth going on.
Take care of yourselves. And of those around you.
Until next time,
~ Lucie
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