ARCHIIIVE

Bodies, stored trauma, archives, Ukrainian heritage and colonialism are not necessarily an obvious combination. Neither are they a simple one; nevertheless, through discussion, personal reflection and collected experiences, we have found interconnected links between these topics. Our goal was never to solve one issue but rather to investigate and question, develop methods for inquiry into topics that are simultaneously incredibly personal and hold collective significance. This research had two main inputs, which existed separately before SoC and perhaps will take on different (individual or collective) forms beyond the programme. What connected us is our motivation to look deeper into our respective topics with unexpected inputs from each other and our peers. Hence, an unobvious combination of topics and methodologies.

This text is divided into three main parts: Question 1 - a contextual introduction and description of archival input, Question 2 - a contextual introduction and description of trauma and the role of somatic practice, Experiments - a recollection and description of our experiments and Conclusion, which is situates our impressions and findings, exploring further potential directions and subtopics this process has since inspired.

Question 1.

How do we address issues of memory and generational trauma, in the context of modern Ukrainian identity and colonial heritage? (Alisa Probylova)

Our memory not only stores past information somewhere safe, but it is also a tool that helps us navigate the present. Just like an archive is not just a storage room with files, it is a particularly active and political space. Memory and intuition play a fundamental role in our understanding of ourselves. Similarly to how our archives store our documented past, which we use to explain, justify, or even defend our present. Ukrainian collective memory holds significant traumas. Stories of the Holodomor (Famine) of 1932-1933, the Soviet man-made famine targeting Ukrainians, still influence habits and attitudes toward food and resources. The Executed Renaissance, Ukrainian modernist artists of the 1930s–40s, were erased almost completely from our archives but not from our memories. Due to imperial and Soviet language policies for decades, it was prohibited to publish officially in Ukrainian, yet we still speak the language. However, Ukrainian archives are the opposite: due to many years of Russian efforts to erase our culture, our archives have been burned, stolen, and meddled with, and therefore our traumas are rarely documented.

Not so long ago, our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were witnesses to these extremely tragic events in the history of the Ukrainian people. Today, we are still dealing with the consequences and lasting effects of those tragedies. Through years of colonisation and russification, Russia has been trying to erase Ukrainian identity in its entirety. Which is why today more than ever it is important for us to tap into our memory, shared and individual traumas, not only to release past personal traumatic experiences but be able to decolonise ourselves and our heritage.

In a series of experiments, discussions and an ongoing process of research, we look at how to address the intersection of our colonial heritage, trauma, and memory. Our motivation is shared, however, our backgrounds and working methods and mediums are different. This is where our unique methodology comes from. We combine conceptual and practical ideas of an Archive - a symbolic and metaphoric comparison with memory is hard to miss, in practice, public and personal archives are great tangible sources for inquiry into history. Another layer of our work is somatic practices and communal play as a method to address stored trauma. Further in the text, this aspect is discussed as Body as an Archive.

Our research is rooted in the context of Ukrainian history, although it is not limited to it. Instead of only evaluating our collective memory, we also refer to our personal experiences, family archives and bodies.

Question 2.

Body as an archive? How to work with the archive of trauma? (Kateryna Vavrynchyk)

The connection to the body came out of our personal experience with traumas. Understanding the difficulties of our past and present, and literally feeling it in our bodies in the form of spasms and blocks, we tapped into somatic and psychological approaches towards the topic of memory and trauma. As ARCHIIIVE research project members, all of us share two layers of trauma: collective and personal. The collective layer harbours our generational trauma from colonialism, repression, famine, topped up with the outbreak of the full-scale invasion in Ukraine in 2022. As for the personal layer of trauma, each of us had our own difficulties in life - burnouts, abuse, migration, and losses. According to the medical research of Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk (an author of “The Body Keeps the Score”) specialised in trauma therapy, our memory of the traumatic experience is stored in the prefrontal cortex of the brain. In order to save us and let us live further, our brain protects us, pushing the painful memory away from our consciousness. This is why solely talking about these experiences is not helpful, as, in fact, we cannot fully access these memories verbally. However it is proven that besides EMDR, somatic therapy and communal play are the ways to tap into these memories. While facing them, it is essential to go through the process of integration: becoming whole with your experiences as well as the experiences of your family members, releases stored energy. Storing traumatic energy in our bodies causes us a lot of damage. Ignoring or avoiding it leads to various chronic symptoms, including fatigue, muscle tension, nausea and depression. Apart from that, traumatic experiences tend to isolate us, making us feel lonely in our heaviness. This is why we especially value the collective practice of somatic rituals. Given all that, in our research, we aim to find tools that can help us liberate our bodies from the emotions being stuck. We were happy to facilitate two workshops, which included engagement of voice, movement, breath-work, and Ukrainian traditional rituals.

Experiments

2.1

The first workshop took place during the intensive knowledge exchange weekend with all the participants of School of Commons 2025. There we focused on calming our psyche with a square breath technique, localising the stuck emotion in our body, and releasing it with voice, creating a so-called Collective Trauma Orchestra.

After that, one after each, participants were invited to draw the located and sensed negative memory on paper. Using handed out pencils, paint and tools, we created a collective trauma mapping, which we analysed together while reflecting upon it. The workshop continued with a playful distraction intervention, which aimed to shift our focus, followed by a positive memory mapping. Voicing and drawing how we felt in our happiest moments, participants could see the difference of the body that appeared on paper.

2.2

Our second experiment took place during the Solidarity With Ukraine Festival DACH, organised by our 380 Collective in September. It was a participatory “relaxed” (join in, leave freely) workshop on singing Ukrainian traditional songs as a collective ritual on mourning and strengthening. The workshop was led by a Ukrainian female group Chorni Halky, specialised in singing eastern and southern/northern folk songs. Given that Ukrainian culture and folklore were systematically repressed by russia, and are currently being practiced again, we see a big value in preserving these traditions and rites. One of them is collective singing. The workshop participants were invited to sing Ukrainian songs and join in the collective energy vibration produced by the voices. After singing, the group introduced a playful folk game, including movement and togetherness.

2.3

“Interview” with family members

As previously mentioned, our research includes working with private archives. This oral experiment is a rather simple exercise - talking to family members about their history. However, it is significantly more complicated once traumatic memory gets in the way. “I don't remember,” “It was a long time ago,” are phrases often used by people who are not ready to dive deep into these memories. Not out of negligence or lack of interest, but perhaps out of the need to protect oneself.

Such simple exercises, however, lead to significant findings. Often it leaves with more questions than answers, unfinished stories, and loose ends.

To (sort of) structure this experiment, each of us talked to a family member and/or looked for an artifact. Topics of the “interviews” varied, some were focused on the reality of life in the soviet union (trauma), more on the expression of Ukrainian identity during Soviet times

(which was often forbidden) and others on family history: how did we end up in this city? The result of this experiment provided an input from the past, which we continue to work on further.

A text, shared by one of us, recalling the experience of "interviewing" family members. (Oleksandra Tsapko)

This August I went back to Ukraine for the fifth time since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. Every time, it brings up complex and conflicting feelings: returning to a place that carries an odd sense of comfort combined with excruciating fear.

This time, I decided to do it differently -to transform this comfort into something slightly uncomfortable. I am still not sure whether those emotions were only mine or also belonged to the people I interviewed.

I spoke with my grandparents on my father’s side. I talked to them about their past. Before, there was never a concrete sense of where they came from or why they were the way they were. They had always existed simply as “granddad and grandma” -an eternal presence without a backstory or an unexpected sequel.

It turned out that both my grandmother, born in Western Ukraine, and my grandfather, born in Southern Ukraine (which has been illegally occupied since 2014), moved to the capital as teenagers in search of better opportunities, carrying bright minds and big hopes. After finishing school and university, they found respectable jobs as a scientist and an architect, and then my father was born. Still, it was far from a stable or ideal family life -Soviet times were not easy for anyone.

My grandmother never once mentioned how hard it had been, how, despite having decent jobs, they could barely afford food and other basic necessities, not to mention new clothes or leisure.

Now, memories from my childhood make sense to me: the endless plastic yogurt cups and plastic bags stuffed inside more plastic bags at my grandparents’ home. Back then, we might have called it hoarding, which now seems almost ridiculous.

Clearly, it was a coping mechanism -a way to deal with the recurring instability of the world.

My grandfather, on the other hand, revealed his deepest frustration: that he can no longer return to his homeland, the place that had always been an escape for him, where he could finally feel at ease. Then he showed old photographs and videos from before 2014. Everything felt brighter and warmer; not only the moving images on the dim computer screen, but also the look in his eyes.

Then came the story of their apartment -the apartment that was my father’s home, and later my brother’s and mine during our childhood. They told me how injustice almost erased it from our lives. My granddad had helped with an architectural project, after which he was promised an apartment as payment. But once the building was finished and ready to move into, the promise was suddenly forgotten. If not for one person in a position of power who fought for justice, my father, my brother, and I would never have had that home.

Corruption is still painfully relevant today, but back then there was not even public exposure or outrage. It was simply the norm.

They shared more tender stories about the time we lived with them. It made me wonder how we are, in fact, part of their story. How we shaped and changed each other. Their pain passed through us, digested in our bodies and reflected back at them. Could we then say that not only does the past form the future, but the future also forms the past, which later forms the future again? I’m not sure yet.

2.4

After inquiring into personal history, we again switch to collective memory and shared heritage. During the DACH festival organised by 380 Collective in Zentralwäscherei on 28.09.2025, we hosted a lecture and an open discussion with Maksym Eristavi, Ukrainian researcher, historian, and the author of “Russian Colonialism 101.” Through a theoretical input by Eristavi and a discussion with listeners, we gained a new perspective. The questions that the audience were interested in often dealt with how to approach the remains of russian colonialism in modern day, such as for example the “cult of great russian culture” and how it used to justify many things, including irresponsible musical programming (Zürich opera hosting a pro-Putin singer who uses Ukrainian tragedies for personal promotion) or collaboration with Russian artists in general.

Eristavi’s input strengthens our connection to our context; it ties together our experienced memories and historic collective memories. Additionally, he focuses on the stolen Ukrainian artists (and more) that are referred to as “Russian”. This input inspires further exploration of archives now as a tool for change and practical decolonisation. Further, this topic is discussed in the conclusive chapter and referred to as the Decolonizing Wikipedia Workshop.

Conclusion

Bringing this project into the context of this year’s cohort of School of Commons has definitely been fruitful, especially in terms of discovering new perspectives and ways of working together inside of our collective and as a part of a larger working group. This is an ongoing research project, it may change shape and format. We do not intend on stopping here or proposing a conclusive answer, as it was never our intention. With knowledge and experience gained on collective trauma and collective dealing with trauma, as well as inquiries into personal history and archives we scratched the surface of developing tools for dealing with trauma, memory, and heritage. Currently, there are two new directions for exploration:

Exploring and reviving traditional mourning practices. By using our findings during the singing workshop and trauma workshop with the SoC intensive as a foundation, we want to expand the research into historic notions of mourning laments and their potential as a somatic collective practice. Another direction we are ready to explore was discovered during Maksym Eristavi’s lecture. In his input, he talks about stolen Ukrainian artists. With this as inspiration, our conceptualisation of an Archive and inquiry into colonial heritage, we want to design a tool for practical decolonisation.

From symbolic and private archives, we want to transition into a publicly accessible and digital environment. In terms of digital archives, Wikipedia immediately comes to mind. An open-access digital platform designed for knowledge sharing and co-editing currently hosts biased and untrue information about Ukrainian artists. As previously noted, for many decades, a key objective of both the Russian Empire and the Soviet regime was to eliminate traces of traditional Ukrainian culture and modern identity. The consequence of this effort is still present in Wikipedia, and other digital and analogue sources. Designing and facilitating a participatory tool to change that, would be our next goal. This may take shape in a workshop format; luckily, Wikipedia is still an open source platform which allows for user-initiated change in the content.