What Would Galina Do?

Posted 3 March 2022

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I have been distracted all day. I have struggled to work on my current novel and have even resorted to cleaning the bedroom and bathroom rather than sitting down to write. Horrific events have been unfolding in Ukraine for days now, but today I found myself unable to look away.

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The reason is simple: Yelena Osipova was arrested last night in St Petersburg.

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Yelena is a pensioner and artist who has spent years protesting against injustice, often standing alone in the streets with her beautifully hand-painted placards. She is no stranger to arrest. Until yesterday, I had never heard of her.

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But ever since I watched the footage of riot police dragging her away while onlookers applauded and cheered, she has remained firmly in my thoughts.

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There are striking parallels between Yelena and Galina, the protagonist of The Girl from the Hermitage. Both belong to the same generation. Both are artists. Both are fiercely tied to St Petersburg. Yelena was born in 1945, in the immediate aftermath of the Siege of Leningrad; Galina’s childhood is shaped by its shadow. Both women inherited the long memory of war.

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Readers sometimes ask whether there will ever be a sequel to The Girl from the Hermitage, perhaps because the novel ends with so many unanswered questions. I never imagined writing one. Galina’s story would require another vast sweep of history to carry her forward.

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And yet, over the past few years, I have found myself thinking about her repeatedly.

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During the pandemic, I wondered how she would have responded to lockdown and fear. Would she have retreated quietly into her flat? Would she have survived?

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And now, as war unfolds in Ukraine, I find myself asking a different question: what would Galina do?

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Part of me would like to imagine her joining Yelena Osipova in the streets with a handmade placard. But honestly, I suspect this is unlikely.

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Many Russians, particularly from the older generation, believe the version of events presented on state television. Others do not believe it, but are terrified of speaking openly. It takes extraordinary courage to protest publicly in modern Russia, particularly now.

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Would Galina risk imprisonment for dissent? I genuinely do not know.

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One of the most painful aspects of this war has been watching divisions fracture families and friendships. Mothers and daughters. Husbands and wives. Friends who suddenly seem to inhabit entirely different realities.

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In smaller ways, many of us have experienced versions of this divide ourselves — through Brexit, through Covid, through politics generally. But the stakes in Russia feel immeasurably higher.

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Like my novel, this piece perhaps has no clear ending. I only wanted to write about Yelena Osipova, whose quiet bravery has moved me deeply.

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As for Galina — and Russia itself — I still do not know what comes next.

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See Yelena's work in the Russian Reader.