The Terminology of Wartime Morality and Ethics

Illustrations by Jane Doe

Extreme situations confront people with complicated existential questions, force them to make choices, and expose their moral character. For everyone in Russia – whether they are directly involved or trying to act as if nothing momentous is happening – the war with Ukraine is just such a situation.

There are those whose lives have dramatically changed since the full-scale war began in February 2022: some have been arrested or had a loved one sent off to fight; others have had their family split apart by emigration. But even those whose basic life circumstances remain unchanged have had to adjust their relationships with the outside world, taking a cautious approach to social media posts, questioning whether they should leave jobs tied to the government, and weighing the practical versus moral risks involved in decisions to support fellow Russians being persecuted by the authorities.

Whatever strategy they choose comes with a specific set of behaviors. The most common is condemning what other people are doing and branding them with various labels, but some people make the effort to reflect on their own actions.

For those striving to remain true to themselves, making sure that their actions align with their own moral compass has become an almost daily exercise. Over the soon-to-be four years of war, everyone has had to create their own guidebook to morality and ethics to help them keep track of their value system, describe reality, and rate various behavioral patterns. This edition of Survival Russian explains some of the terminology that might appear in such guidebooks and in discussions surrounding morality and ethics in today’s Russia.

Мора́льная па́ника (moral panic)

This is a sociological term for widespread fear that some phenomenon or group threatens certain societal values and morals. These fears are often fanned by outside forces, such as the media. One prominent example is the campaign against the LGBTQ+ community. Russians who trust what they see on television truly believe that a man in a pink sweater or with long hair is somehow a threat to their nation’s security.

But sometimes the expression is used in the colloquial sense to refer to the panic and chaos provoked when Russian troops entered Ukraine. For many Russians, the war’s first year was spent in a state of constant casting about and hasty decision-making that later had to be rethought. Some hurriedly left the country during the initial bombing of Kiev, not wanting to spend an extra second in the aggressor country, or use Russian credit cards, or breathe Russian air. But in many cases, circumstances (often involving elderly relatives) later forced them to return and continue to do whatever they had been doing before. In others, people without a clearly formulated position might have adopted the perspective of their partner and condemned Putin’s actions only to reassess their position a few months later and volunteer to weave camouflage netting for the Russian Army, seeing this as a good deed that any decent person should do under the circumstances.

Бе́лое пальто́ (white coat)

This time of moral fervor, rife with condemnations of other people’s views, has brought back a meme from past decades: the opposition’s “white coat.”

“White Coat Syndrome” (Синдро́м бе́лого пальто́) was a term used to label people inclined to see their own position as infallible and to criticize anything that deviated from it. It became a meme in the 2000s and was associated with the political activist Valeriya Novodvorskaya, who was famous for her dramatic biography and emotional behavior. The meme featured a Photoshopped image of Novodvorskaya dressed in a white raincoat with a sign around her neck reading: “You’re all idiots and aren’t getting treatment; I’m the only smart one, standing here beautiful in my white coat” (Вы все дураки́ и не ле́читесь, одна́ я у́мная, в бе́лом пальто́ стою́ краси́вая).

Accusations of белопальто́вость (white-coatism) have always been rather ambiguous: on one hand, they represent a certain healthy criticism, but on the other they can easily devolve into dismissive attitudes toward anyone seen to be out of lockstep with “correct” views. The term has been used by the authorities against dissenters, including Novodvorskaya. But, these days, propaganda is coming up with much harsher and cruder formulations, and the expression “white coat” is mostly used within the opposition toward people who consider themselves to be ethically infallible, which appears to be the point of a street art statue in St. Petersburg, installed in 2023 by the Yav Art Group, that features a headless manikin dressed in a white coat tied to resemble a straightjacket.

Лю́ди с прекра́сными ли́цами (people with beautiful faces)

This is another old meme, one that spread during the 2012 protests on Bolotnaya Square. People who participated described a sense of euphoria from being among the likeminded and from all the “beautiful” and “good” faces there.

In April 2022, the journalist Andrei Loshak reminded us of this rhetoric. After leaving the country, he wrote on Facebook: “When I was flying out of Moscow, possibly forever, I was struck by the faces of the passengers flying to Yerevan. I would call those faces ‘интеллиге́нтные.’ I had seen these same faces at protest rallies in Moscow and now I’m still encountering them in Tbilisi – this seems to be the only kind of Russian here now.” Loshak compared the faces of his fellow expats with those of the “degenerates” fighting in Ukraine and announced that he didn’t want to have anything more to do with their country or with its people. In keeping with this attitude, he referred to Russian soldiers as óрки (orcs), a common expression especially popular on the Ukrainian internet, where it’s used for all Russians. Correspondingly, Russia itself is Мóрдор (Mordor).

Loshak’s extremely elitist pronouncement of course provoked a firestorm of indignation and controversy. Another star of Russian journalism, Yelena Kostyuchenko, pointed out the privileges enjoyed by people from good families living in the Russian capital, given their ability to continue their educations while their peers from the empire’s outskirts “are busy cutting scrap metal, working at gas stations, or giving in to social pressures for the sake of survival.” Kostyuchenko said that Russia has been waging war for a long time, treating disabled people as if they’re inferior, and inflicting political terror. “We have Fascism – and that didn’t just happen a month ago.” Her main point was that members of the educated class can’t simply distance themselves from what is happening in the country because they have a beautiful face and the ability to buy a white coat and a one-way plane ticket when the going gets rough.

All sorts of things were said back in those days, and some of the people who said them might wish they could take them back. They probably needn’t worry: their regrettable statements have already been forgotten amid the cascade of more important developments. Still, the phrases “beautiful faces” and “people with beautiful faces” have become part of the lexicon of contemporary morality and ethics. They are usually used by oppositionists themselves, and mostly ironically.

Хоро́шие ру́сские (good Russians)

This is a variation on the theme “people with beautiful faces.” The expression appeared in 2022 after the Antiwar Committee (a movement founded by prominent Russian opinion-leaders in exile) came out with the idea of a sort of alternative passport for Russians in emigration: a travel document that could be given to Russians who had spoken out against Putin’s aggression and used instead of the “red passport” that has greatly complicated the lives of Russian expats. Some participants in public discussions of this idea rather insensitively characterized this as a па́спорт хоро́шего ру́сского (passport for the good Russian), a phrase that sounded utterly ridiculous and immediately became a target of mockery.

Пра́вильная сторона́ исто́рии (the right side of history)

This formulation is popular among Western democratic politicians who assume that the world is advancing (or should be advancing) down the path of progress and liberalization and that it is our duty to help it along. But this means scaling up white-coatism to the government level and seems to imply that everything people with beautiful faces do is correct, and whoever isn’t with them is a barbarian, while they are infallible. This simplification often leads to radicalism and the ignoring of nuance when, for example, anyone who dares criticize the political situation in Ukraine automatically becomes an enemy who has taken the side of evil. Just like Western conservatives, Russians, as a rule – and not just right-wingers – roll their eyes at such pretentions.

Вина́ и отве́тственность (guilt and responsibility)

In the days following the full-scale invasion, Russian society’s antiwar segment was utterly crushed by a sense of guilt. On top of the shock of what had happened, there came calls, both from Ukraine and the West, for Russians to immediately go out into the street and stop Putin. While people in Russia understood this would be futile, they were still tormented by a feeling that they should be doing something. But what? Should they have done something much sooner? Were they personally to blame for all the deaths their country was perpetrating?

As people grappled with these questions, postwar German theorists like Karl Jaspers, Viktor Frankl, and Hannah Arendt were frequently quoted. The need to “separate guilt from responsibility” (отдели́ть вину́ от отве́тственности) became a popular discussion topic, since guilt has to do with direct involvement in a crime, as well as with self-condemnation and inaction, while responsibility is an active position relating to individuals’ personal role in events and their ability to do something about them in the moment.

Debates over collective responsibility (коллекти́вная отве́тственность) for the war that is borne by everyone who lives in Russia have not died down. Those who left the country so often pronounce the phrase “I don’t pay taxes there anymore” (“я бо́льше не плачу́ там нало́ги”) that it’s become a punchline. The counterpoint is that nobody asked those who stayed behind whether they want their money to go to the war (rather than to pensions and healthcare, for example) and that reproaching them is a classic case of victim blaming. On the other hand, it’s easy to tell yourself that you don’t have anything to do with what’s happening in Ukraine and go calmly about your business. However, if responsibility is assigned too broadly, doesn’t that mean forgetting the names of those truly guilty? And what exactly does “collective responsibility” mean? Does that term have an actual legal meaning or is it just a principle used in prisons, when an entire cell is punished for the disobedience of one individual?

Вы́ученная беспо́мощность (learned helplessness)

This term from the field of psychology comes up so frequently in discussions of morality that it has become a cliché. The concept “learned helplessness” arose out of experiments where animals were given electric shocks with such regularity that they became accustomed to them and stopped trying to escape the pain, even after they were given the ability to do so. In the present context, the idea is that people who lived for 70 years in a totalitarian society (and even their descendants) became so used to the notion that nothing depends on them that they grew incapable of taking on the role of political actors, even when historical change gave them the opportunity.

This term seems to fit the Russian context, since Russians are known for having a paternalistic attitude toward their rulers: “There, at the top, they know better than me, I’m just a little person.” But from an ethical standpoint, this is a bad way to look at things, since it removes the burden of responsibility from those who’ve monopolized power in a country. After all, just as a sense of powerlessness can be cultivated, so can the will to take action.

Пред́¨тели (traitors)

It would be wrong to assume that it is only the antiwar, liberal-democratic segment of society that is asking itself questions of morality and ethics. For many elderly people who sincerely support the government, the ideological conflict with their own children has become a personal tragedy. According to their value system, evading mobilization is an act of unmanly cowardice, and helping Ukrainian refugees is a betrayal of the motherland. Such people give serious thought to the question of whether they have the moral right to interact with their émigré children or are obliged to cut off ties completely. Propaganda has provided them with a term that is a precise translation of one Hitler used in Mein Kampf – национáл-преда́тели (national traitors), which in common usage is often shortened to just преда́тели (traitors). And this is understandable. After all, they feel as if their children betrayed not just some nation (the concept of which is extremely abstract in Russia), but them.

Духовно-нра́вственные це́нности (spiritual-moral values)

It’s rather difficult to describe Russia’s official moral-ethical code, and everyone understands it in their own way. Its pillar is conservatism and a patriarchal approach to the family, as well as loyalty to the country, which really means to its leaders.

Back in 2012, Putin gave a famous speech about the духо́вные скре́пы (literally, spiritual braces/clamps/binds – basically the unique spiritual qualities that unite Russians) that he believes should serve as central to the nation’s spirit and unity. Few people use this expression seriously, although there are some who truly believe that moral decay reigns in the West while Russia is the last bastion of normality in a world that is tumbling into an abyss. One aspect of this concept is the moral panic felt toward the gay community. “The war’s objectives have been reduced to saving people from the harassment that gays are subjecting them to,” Yekaterina Schulman, the opposition’s favorite political scientist, quipped during a 2024 YouTube interview. “Everyone’s forgotten about NATO and denazification didn’t work out, so now we’re fighting gays.”

Со́евый либера́л (soy liberal)

In Russia, it’s a tradition to call pretty much anyone who doesn’t support the government “liberal.” On state TV, the very word “liberal” is often used as a slur. The word has spawned a raft of more expressive variants, such as the distortion либерáхи or the portmanteau либерáсты (liberal+pederast, a cognate used derogatorily in Russian for gay men in general).

In recent times, the term “soy liberal” has become particularly popular in reference to people substituting soy protein for meat. In the minds of those who throw around these terms, a liberal is anyone who lives differently from you or does things you don’t understand, be they gay, vegetarian, a woman who refuses to wear a bra, a boy who doesn’t hit back, or someone employed by a Western NGO. A “soy liberal” is basically a softy incapable of decisive action. In September, Lubov Sobol, a Navalny-aligned politician, published a photo of herself on X holding a submachine gun with the words “a liberal isn’t always soy” (либера́л не всегда́ быва́ет со́евым), which gave rise to a whole slew of similar pictures of people with soy-liberal views looking tough.

Уехáнты (departers)

This term can be added the long list of derogatory names for people who left the country after February 2022. Both уехáнты and убегáнты (fleers) are modeled on the earlier neologism релокáнты or “relocators,” used by departing Russians themselves who didn’t wanted to call themselves “émigrés.” These two recent additions to the moral lexicon combine the verbs уезжа́ть (to depart) and убега́ть (to flee) with the -ант suffix. (For more on this particular subset of wartime Russian, see Russian Life, Summer 2023.)

Уйтúшники (departed IT-industry workers)

The most inventive moniker along these lines, this term combines the verb уйти́ (to leave) with the standard term for software engineers: айти́шники. Of course, programmers and more broadly anyone working in tech are better positioned than most to work remotely or find ways to make a living from anywhere with an internet connection, so they make up a large percentage of those who have left Russia since the full-scale war began. All of these terms carry a hint of mockery and derision, along with moral condemnation of people who made the wrong choice by faintheartedly fleeing their homeland for the sake of a comfortable life.

Переждáнцы (those waiting it out)

From the verb пережда́ть (to wait till something is over), this term is used for people who decided not to leave Russia, despite not supporting the government, and waiting for it to change. It’s also used for people who remained in dangerous southern areas bordering the front in the hope of somehow avoiding being seriously affected by the war. These are people who, instead of taking active measures, are sitting and waiting, possibly cursing the authorities under their breath. It’s used both with sad irony by such people themselves and as a smear against covert enemies by unsympathetic outsiders.

Расчелове́чивание (dehumanization)

The spike in usage of this term was triggered by the October 7, 2023, Hamas attacks in Israel and ensuing events. Israel was a prime destination for those fleeing Russia after the war began, so these events had a strong emotional impact back home. Many Russians have personal connections to people who fled one war only to be bombed in another.

The word “dehumanization” is coming up in a number of contexts. Hamas’s brutality on October 7 showed that they didn’t see Israelis as humans, and the Israelis are charged with dehumanizing the Palestinians of Gaza, since all Gazans are treated as enemies. As the word “dehumanization” keeps being repeated and people ponder its full implications, Russians seem to be noticing for the first time how the war has influenced their own way of thinking and that during the years of war they have mastered the skill of dehumanization while also becoming the object of it, whether they’re being called о́рки or либера́сты.

Эффе́кт привыка́ния (habituation effect)

Moral fervor can’t be sustained for years, and today, the intensity of emotion has greatly diminished. Within the antiwar community, there is frequent talk of habituation – from the news of war crimes and arrests, to the regime’s growing brutality, to the proliferation of lies. Everyone understands that you can’t live in a state of constant stress, and that adapting even to the most horrible things is normal and healthy, and can protect us from excess mental strain. Nevertheless, watching this adaptation take place within yourself is very painful. Some people have lost all faith in humanity; others are just disappointed in themselves. Still others urge that we struggle against this effect, keeping a clear eye on what is happening and not forgetting to consult our personal guidebooks of morality and ethics.