Let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or rather, the ghost in the grand theater. A recent piece in *The Atlantic* titled "Ballet’s New Iron Curtain" hit a nerve, and it’s one we’ve all been quietly feeling for a while. The essay argues that the world of ballet, a realm built on transcendent beauty and universal expression, is fracturing. Not along artistic lines, but political ones. And honestly? It’s hard to look at the current landscape and disagree.
For decades, ballet was a rare bridge. Russian companies toured the West with soul-stirring *Swan Lakes*. American dancers brought Balanchine’s speed to Moscow. We shared stars, exchanged techniques, and argued over aesthetics, not allegiances. The art form felt bigger than borders.
That bridge is now shuddering under immense weight. The war in Ukraine has forced an impossible choice upon artists and institutions. To collaborate is to be seen as complicit. To cancel is to sever decades of cultural exchange. Major companies have cut ties, tours are scrapped, and a chilling silence has fallen over what was once a vibrant dialogue.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth the article surfaces: this isn’t just about geopolitics. It’s about the soul of ballet itself.
**On one hand, can art truly be "apolitical" when funded by or representing a state engaged in conflict?** The moral pressure on Western institutions is immense. Continuing "business as usual" can feel like a betrayal of fundamental values. Silence is a statement.
**On the other hand, does isolating Russian *artists*—many of whom have no voice in their government’s actions—nurture or strangle the art?** Ballet is a living tradition. Cutting off a limb as vital as the Russian school (with its unparalleled pedagogy and history) risks impoverishing the global body of work. Where do we draw the line between artist and state?
What we’re witnessing is the painful birth of a new paradigm. The old model of cultural diplomacy, where ballet served as a soft-power tool to smooth over political tensions, has shattered. It assumed a separation between stage and state that now seems naive.
So, where does that leave us?
Perhaps the future isn’t about rebuilding the old bridge, but about navigating a new, more complex geography. It may mean supporting individual dissident artists in exile more fiercely than state troupes. It may mean Western companies diving deeper into their own repertoires and non-Russian traditions, fostering a more diverse ecosystem. It will certainly require more nuanced conversations than simple boycotts or unwavering continuations.
The "New Iron Curtain" isn’t made of concrete and barbed wire, but of visas, funding restrictions, and agonizing moral calculus. Its shadow is falling across the barre.
The tragedy is that ballet, at its best, speaks the language of human fragility, strength, and emotion—a language that knows no borders. Our challenge now is to find a way to preserve that essential conversation, even when the political one has broken down. The stage must not become just another arena for the world’ divisions. But ensuring it doesn’t will be the defining struggle for a generation of dancers, directors, and audiences.
The curtain is rising on a painful, complicated act. Let’s hope we’re wise enough to choreograph a way through.
