From St. Petersburg to Tbilisi, through the realms of art and exile, Leda Garina emerges as a feminist artist and activist who has transformed her escape from Russia into a powerful act of defiance.

As the founder of the feminist cultural initiative Eve’s Ribs, she employs the body, language, and irony to confront authoritarian regimes, patriarchy, and the realities of war.

In this interview, Garina, who sought refuge in Georgia in 2022, elaborates on her dedication to opposing Russian militarism, her critique of imperialism, the essential role of provocation in art, and the significance of communication as a form of political engagement.

“I refuse to remain merely a silent survivor,” she asserts. “I strive to be a voice demanding to be heard, even if it entails certain risks.”

“Absolutely. For years, we battled on numerous fronts—environmental issues, women’s rights, and freedom of expression—but now, all these efforts are eclipsed by the war machine. To genuinely connect with Russian society, we must dissect its darkest elements: militarism and imperialism. The narrative of ‘Great Russia,’ which centers on military strength, is a damaging myth that merely justifies internal oppression and external aggressiveness.”

According to Leda, this ideological construct isn’t a modern phenomenon; it has deep roots in Russia’s colonial past. “Through our performances and communication efforts, we seek to make people ponder how the imperial mindset was legitimized to annihilate, dominate, and erase the autonomy of other nations. We are not a great country; we are a nation that has constructed itself on the foundations of others’ erasure.”

Leda speaks with clarity, yet her pain is palpable: “Those who turn a blind eye to Russian imperialism choose ignorance. Yet it is omnipresent—in every war, every oppressive law, and every act of conquest disguised as national pride.” For her, cultural deconstruction is an indispensable base for any political opposition. “We cannot advocate for civil rights without dismantling the power structures that routinely deny them, both domestically and internationally. War is merely a symptom, not the disease itself.”

“Essential. Feminist activism has defined me—it has saved my life.”

In St. Petersburg, Leda established the region’s sole independent feminist space, dedicating eight years to organizing festivals, workshops, lectures, and educational initiatives.

“[Eve’s Ribs] was open to all, free of charge, and constructed with care. However, following the invasion of Ukraine, I realized we needed to broaden our focus: it was no longer sufficient to combat cultural patriarchy alone. We also had to tackle armed patriarchy, which today manifests as war.”

Leda sees art and activism as inseparable. She asserts that every artistic act carries political weight. “The issue is that many activists today express anger with no clear direction. We witness symbolic gestures, but they lack a genuine strategy. If we want to effect change, we must be willing to sacrifice something.”

“The same applies to other social issues, like climate change. There’s much talk about saving the planet, yet few are ready to relinquish their cars, flights, or comforts. For real change to occur, we must reassess our daily habits, even those that are most personal. Yet the system we inhabit has conditioned us to be complacent. We prefer to believe we have control rather than confront uncertainty and make tough choices.”

Leda observes that much so-called “political art” often scratches only the surface. “Many actions may appear provocative, yet leave no lasting impact. I want my art to genuinely provoke thought. When I receive backlash or hostile reactions, I recognize that I’ve hit a nerve. If no one is upset, it means you haven’t conveyed anything worthwhile. Art serves as an act of war against indifference.”

“That’s the question that troubles me the most. Many within Russia profess to oppose the war, yet only a handful are willing to take real risks. Most opt for a post or a hashtag on social media. There’s this notion that simply holding a moral stance is enough to feel justified. But if you’re not prepared to risk something—your job, safety, or freedom—then your resistance is not genuine.”

Leda recounts a telling moment after a television interview: “An elderly woman approached me and whispered, ‘You were impolite—you interrupted a man.’ She didn’t care about my words, only that I breached social norms. That encapsulates the tragedy: form supersedes truth.”

Even among radical factions, she has observed that fear often inhibits action. “Once in Moscow, I put forward a specific plan to secure the release of a detained activist. They told me we’d need at least 100 people. Only four were brave enough to take the risk. The rest preferred to express themselves through posters and performances. It’s as if we’ve convinced ourselves that looking good is equivalent to doing good.”

To her, many protests in Europe often feel superficial. “A march in a European capital with a ‘No to War’ placard isn’t true dissent. It’s an exercise in moral cleanliness. I respect it, but it’s insufficient. It’s more about alleviating feelings of complicity than effecting change. It doesn’t shake anyone awake.” She adds that “inertia among younger generations often outweighs anger. Perhaps because we have never been genuinely taught the essence of disobedience.”

“There’s no truly secure place anywhere in the world,” she states. “In Georgia, I feel relatively freer, but I understand it’s a conditional and fragile freedom. It’s an illusion. The prison I escaped from still resides within me. No matter where I go, repression follows.” She mentions rumors of Russian agents surveilling exiled activists. “I am aware that I’m under observation. I know that if I were to return to Russia, I’d be arrested immediately. Even remaining here means every action bears a risk.”

Yet, she continues her work. “For me, freedom is a daily endeavor, not a guaranteed state. It’s something you defend each day, even when no one is looking.” She no longer relies on institutions for protection. “Governments—even democratic ones—are slow and ambiguous. However, communities can still effect change. When you discover a space where you can speak, create, and aid others—that’s your frontline. That’s the battleground.”

She reiterates that she refuses to be a mute survivor. She chooses to persist in her voice, even if it’s fragile—if it might help shatter the silence that sustains power.

“In a landscape marked by war and censorship, communication becomes a form of resistance,” she observes. This theme recurs frequently in her discourse: the notion that words, actions, and imagery should be purposeful, precise, and intended to provoke. “Russian public discourse is constructed on an illusion: the state conveys that you’re not accountable, that the enemy lies beyond, and that your suffering is justified. Many opt to believe it—it’s less daunting.” For Leda, however, dissent should not be comforting. “You must decide: do you wish to communicate to appear admirable, or to enact change? I chose the latter. And that choice entails loss of support, unsettling others, and creating divisions.”

Reflecting these beliefs, Leda has not only organized political performances and protests but has also maintained an active online presence, utilizing platforms like YouTube to critically dismantle imperialist narratives. “We may not always know who’s listening, but we understand the purpose behind our efforts. Inside Russia, it’s crucial for people to know that someone is still speaking out.” She adds that even seemingly trivial actions, like donning a squirrel costume to advocate for a public park, can generate awareness and dialogue. “Sometimes, it is through paradox that the cracks in consensus begin to appear. It’s a gradual process, but it’s one I firmly believe in.”

For her, effective communication is not about comforting others—it’s about stirring them to action. “If just one person starts to question the propaganda they’ve internalized, that marks a significant beginning.”