In his latest book, “On Freedom,” American scholar Timothy Snyder establishes a thought-provoking distinction between the word "liberation" and the Ukrainian wartime variant "de-occupation" to probe the fraught but necessary question: When is a person truly free?
Russia's full-scale war against Ukraine has left countless settlements in ruins and displaced millions. Those who have fled face the uncertainty of carrying on with their lives elsewhere, while those returning to areas liberated by Ukrainian forces, if possible, must rebuild.
Snyder describes visiting the village of Yahidne in Ukraine’s northeastern Chernihiv Oblast, where during the occupation, Russian soldiers forced nearly the entire village — more than 360 people — into the school basement at gunpoint. The locals would spend a month there, in inhumane conditions, used as human shields for the Russian soldiers’ headquarters upstairs. Eleven of them would not make it out alive.
“A liberation suggests that a woe has dissipated,” Snyder writes. “But the adults need support, the children a new school. It is so very important that (the village) is no longer occupied. But it would be wrong to end the story of Yahidne when the survivors emerged from underground.”
Snyder’s concerns are valid — although nearly three years have passed since the occupation of Yahidne, Ukrainian journalists have reported on ongoing scandals surrounding the reconstruction of the village that came to be one of the many settlements symbolizing the horrors of Russian aggression.
While “On Freedom” primarily focuses on the United States, Snyder’s reflections on Ukraine, enriched by his expertise as a historian of European history and particularly that of the former Soviet Union, make the book a compelling read for a broad audience, offering both a stark warning and a much-needed declaration of moral clarity in an era increasingly defined by rising authoritarianism.
There is, first and foremost, a necessity, as Snyder argues, to rescue the word freedom from “overuse and abuse.” Defining what drives freedom is crucial to understanding the true extent of it. In this context, the comparison Snyder ultimately draws between countries like the U.S. and Ukraine is striking.
Snyder suggests that we can conceive of freedom in two ways: as freedom from something or as freedom to do something. The former, the cornerstone of American identity — originally freedom from British tyranny — presents a vision many Americans believe is assured by birthright. It is what he also calls “negative freedom:” the absence of occupation, oppression, or even government.
Snyder suggests that we can conceive of freedom in two ways: as freedom from something or as freedom to do something.
Yet, Snyder warns, this belief in freedom from something is vulnerable to malevolent distortion. Those in power can easily mislead the public into forfeiting their rights by disguising the act as a safeguard against both tangible and perceived threats, such as the expanded surveillance abilities of law enforcement after the 9/11 terrorist attacks during U.S. President George W. Bush’s administration.
Snyder contends that symbols like the American flag, seen as emblems of freedom, can sometimes also substitute for the actual practice of it. History offers many instances where the freedoms these symbols represent excluded certain groups, with racial inequality in the U.S. serving as a recurring example throughout the book. True freedom, Snyder argues, is not rooted in endlessly glorifying past achievements but in the courage to confront what must be done to uphold and expand freedom for all. As he aptly states, “praise is not practice.”
“It is easy to imagine that freedom will be brought to us by a song, by jets over a stadium, by the land, by the ancestors, by the Founders, by capitalism,” he continues. “But is the notion that we are granted freedom right for a ‘home of the brave’?”
“Is it not more courageous to ask what Americans have done, could have done, should do?”
The Cold War offers us a telling example. As Snyder notes, it was a “moral challenge” for the U.S. — Senator Joseph McCarthy launched a witch hunt for communist influence in the country, destroying many innocent people’s lives and careers with baseless accusations. The U.S. government also supported right-wing dictatorships in Latin America to suppress even moderate socialist movements.
At the same time, ”the Soviet challenge had also pushed America toward some strengths,” including a manned mission to the moon, substantial investments in education, and the promotion of cultural diplomacy abroad. While not without flaws, U.S. policy during the Cold War demonstrated a commitment to investing in its population and protecting it through robust structures. This approach helped to underscore the perceived superiority of the American model over that of the USSR.
“Whether we will be free will depend on us,” as Snyder writes. “Not just on what we do, but on why we do it: our ideals.”
“Whether we will be free will depend on us,” as Snyder writes. “Not just on what we do, but on why we do it: our ideals.”
The genocidal nature of Russia's war against Ukraine — marked by the deliberate destruction of cultural sites and the forced relocation of tens of thousands of Ukrainian children — might have some think that Ukraine's struggle is simply the fight for freedom from Russia. Yet, the Ukrainians that Snyder speaks with during his visits to the wartime country tell him about freedom in a fundamentally different way than Americans perceive it. Their viewpoint aligns with most other countries, to be more precise — and this is what makes all of them happier, healthier, and ultimately more well off.
For Ukrainians, the war is not framed as only a fight for freedom from Russia but rather about the freedom to live on their own terms. This vision of freedom is one rooted in self-determination, where Ukrainians strive for autonomy and the right to shape their own future without Russian interference or domination.
“The occupiers had gotten in the way of a sense that the world was opening up (for Ukrainians), that the next generation would have a better life, that decisions made now would matter in years to come,” Snyder writes.
“A soldier in a rehabilitation center told me that freedom was about everyone having a chance to fulfill their own purposes after the war. A veteran awaiting a prosthesis said that freedom would be a smile on his son’s face. A young soldier on leave said that freedom was about the children he would like to have.”
Snyder also explores how access to knowledge and an openness to engage meaningfully with the world around us are integral to a free society — ideals that countries like Russia actively seek to undermine. He highlights how Ukraine has had to confront Russia’s attempts to manipulate global perceptions of the war through contradictory narratives, such as claims that the Ukrainian language is “not real” while also alleging that Ukrainians are “forced” to speak it over Russian, or the paradoxical assertions that Ukraine is a country of Nazis but also one that promotes LGBTQ+ values and is involved in some sort of Jewish conspiracy.
As Snyder writes, “the simple fact that Russia had invaded a neighboring country got lost on social media,” with online platforms becoming battlegrounds for narratives debating whether the invasion was “justified.” He critiques this distraction, noting, “Americans and others wasted outrage on phantoms even as a real war of aggression began.”
Reading Snyder's "On Freedom" evokes an even more somber undertone in the aftermath of Donald Trump's 2024 presidential victory in the U.S., which was marked by his repeated assertions that there "wouldn't be a country anymore" if he lost — a mantra designed to incite fear among his base and sway undecided voters. While conservative pundits tout the "future looks bright" for the country, others voice growing concerns over potential erosions of freedoms, including minority rights and women's health, given the declarations Trump and his allies made on the campaign trail.
Simultaneously, Russia appears emboldened amid uncertainty over the future of U.S. military aid for Kyiv, escalating aerial assaults across the country and intensifying efforts to occupy more territory in Ukraine’s east. Ukrainian officials also face mounting pressure to agree on negotiations for a ceasefire, all while recognizing that Moscow’s ultimate goal of exterminating the Ukrainian national idea remains unchanged.
The prospects for 2025 and beyond may appear grim, yet Snyder encourages readers to remain steadfast and resolute: “Fear is not enough. It will not get us where we need to go. From the most basic facts we can build a scaffolding of hope.”
By grounding ourselves in fundamental moral truths rather than intoxicating ourselves with dangerous rhetoric, we can begin to construct not just resistance against authoritarian forces but a framework of hope and substantive action to better the world. Engaging with sometimes uncomfortable inquiries about oneself, one’s community, and one's country is not merely an intellectual exercise but a necessity for genuine clarity and self-awareness. This act of reclaiming agency — choosing hope over fear — is itself a crucial step toward safeguarding freedom.
Note from the author:
Hi, this is Kate Tsurkan, thanks for reading this article. There is an ever-increasing amount of books about or related to Ukraine available to English-language readers, and I hope my recommendations prove useful when it comes to your next trip to the bookstore. Ukrainian culture has taken on an even more important meaning during wartime, so if you like reading about this sort of thing, please consider supporting The Kyiv Independent.
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