A step toward the normalization Russia desperately sought
Nine days before the opening of one of the world's most storied cultural gatherings, the Venice Biennale's entire jury resigned rather than preside over an event readmitting Russia — a nation whose leader faces charges of crimes against humanity. The act was not merely procedural; it was a refusal to allow art's most prestigious stages to become instruments of normalization for ongoing violence. In withdrawing, the jurors posed a question that institutions of culture have long struggled to answer: can openness remain a virtue when it is indistinguishable from complicity?
- The jury's unanimous resignation, issued nine days before inauguration, transformed a simmering controversy into an open rupture at the heart of one of art's most prestigious institutions.
- Russia's return to Venice — reclaiming a pavilion it legally owns after years of absence — was never just about art; it was a bid for the normalcy that continued warfare and ICC charges had stripped away.
- The European Union pulled two million euros in funding, Italy's culture minister declared a personal boycott, and the government launched an investigation into potential sanctions violations, leaving the Biennale encircled by institutional pressure.
- With the prize ceremony cancelled entirely, the event pivoted to direct visitor voting — a democratic improvisation that quietly dismantled the very architecture of recognition the Biennale was built upon.
- Behind every procedural dispute lay an unspoken ledger: four years of war, demolished heritage sites, looted artworks, and hundreds of Ukrainian artists killed — a cost the jury refused to let go unacknowledged.
Nine days before the Venice Biennale was set to open, its entire jury resigned. Their reasoning was unambiguous: they could not award prizes at an event where Russia had been readmitted to participate. Their policy was long-standing — no prizes for countries whose leaders face charges of crimes against humanity. That meant Russia. It also meant Israel.
The Biennale had been roiling for weeks. The European Union had already withdrawn a two-million-euro grant, calling Russia's return morally indefensible while Moscow was, in Brussels' assessment, actively working to erase Ukrainian culture through military force. Italy's culture minister had declared a personal boycott. The jury's resignation made the conflict impossible to contain.
The Biennale's leadership held firm on principle: the institution was open to all nations and could not legally bar Russia, which owned its pavilion outright. After Russian artists and curators withdrew in solidarity with Ukraine in 2022, Bolivia had occupied the space in 2024. Now Russia was reclaiming it, planning a performance piece called "The Tree is Rooted in the Sky." For Moscow, the return was never simply about art — it was a step toward the international normalization the invasion had cost it.
The human toll shadowing the dispute was immense: over four years of war, Ukrainian museums and heritage sites had been demolished, artworks looted, and hundreds of artists killed. The jury's resignation was, in part, a refusal to let that reality be quietly set aside in the name of cultural openness.
Prime Minister Meloni acknowledged her government's opposition but declined to intervene directly, noting the Biennale's autonomy. Behind the scenes, the culture ministry was investigating whether Russia's return violated existing sanctions. Israel, whose prime minister and former defence minister face ICC arrest warrants over the Gaza war, was subject to the same prize exclusion — a decision its foreign ministry condemned as a "contamination of the art world."
With the jury gone, the May 9th ceremony was cancelled. Visitors would now vote directly on their favorite pavilions — a democratic substitution that fundamentally changed how the Biennale recognizes excellence. It was a solution born of crisis, and it left the deeper question unanswered: whether an institution devoted to art can remain truly open while the world remains at war.
Nine days before the Venice Biennale was set to open its doors, the entire jury walked away. Their statement was brief but unambiguous: they could not, in good conscience, award prizes at an event where Russia had been readmitted to participate. The principle was clear and long-standing—no prizes for countries whose leaders face charges of crimes against humanity. That meant Russia. It also meant Israel. The timing was explosive, arriving just as Italy's culture ministry had dispatched officials to Venice to assess the reopening of the Russian pavilion, a space that had sat empty since 2022 when Russian artists and curators withdrew in protest against the invasion of Ukraine.
The Biennale, one of the world's most prestigious art exhibitions, had become a flashpoint for a larger question about culture, politics, and complicity. For weeks, the event had been roiled by controversy. The European Union had already yanked a two-million-euro grant, calling Russia's return "morally wrong" at a moment when Moscow was, in the EU's assessment, actively working to erase Ukrainian culture as part of its military campaign. Italy's own culture minister had declared a personal boycott. Now the jury's resignation made the conflict impossible to ignore.
The Biennale's leadership had maintained a consistent position: the institution was open to all nations and opposed any form of exclusion or censorship. Legally, they argued, Russia could not be barred—the country owned its pavilion outright. After the 2022 invasion, when Russian curators and artists withdrew in solidarity with Ukraine, Bolivia had occupied the space in 2024. Now Russia was reclaiming it, planning to exhibit a performance piece called "The Tree is Rooted in the Sky." Some reports suggested public access might be restricted, though details remained unclear.
For Russia, readmission to Venice represented something far larger than art world prestige. It was a step toward the normalization it desperately sought, a signal that the world was moving on, even as the invasion continued to kill Ukrainians every single day. Over four years of war, the human and cultural toll had been staggering: museums and heritage sites demolished, artworks looted by occupying forces, hundreds of artists dead from combat. The jury's action was, in part, a refusal to participate in that normalization.
Italy's Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni acknowledged the government's opposition to Russia's participation but stopped short of direct intervention, noting that the Biennale operated autonomously and its president was "very capable." Behind the scenes, the culture ministry was investigating whether Russia's return violated existing sanctions. Israel faced a parallel exclusion from prize consideration—judges at the International Criminal Court had issued arrest warrants for the country's prime minister and former defence minister, citing reasonable grounds for criminal responsibility in the Gaza war. Israel's foreign ministry had called the Biennale's decision a "contamination of the art world."
With the jury gone, the ceremony scheduled for May 9th was cancelled. In its place, visitors themselves would vote on their favorite pavilions, a democratic substitution that fundamentally altered how the Biennale would recognize artistic excellence. The prestigious awards that had long defined the event would not be given. Instead, the crowd would decide. It was a solution born of crisis, and it left the fundamental tension unresolved: whether an institution devoted to art could remain truly open while the world remained at war.
Citas Notables
The jury stated it was acting in accordance with its principle not to award prizes to countries whose leaders face charges of crimes against humanity— Venice Biennale jury statement
Italy's government does not share the decision to allow Russia to participate, though the Biennale operates autonomously— Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did the jury feel they had to resign rather than simply abstain from voting on Russia and Israel?
Because abstention wouldn't have solved the problem. The jury's principle wasn't just about which countries could win prizes—it was about whether they could participate in an event that was awarding prizes at all. If they stayed and simply didn't vote, they'd still be lending legitimacy to the whole enterprise.
But the Biennale says it's open to everyone and opposed to censorship. Isn't the jury's action a form of censorship?
That's the tension at the heart of it. The Biennale is right that it opposes censorship in principle. But the jury saw a difference between censorship and accountability. They weren't saying Russia can't exhibit—Russia is exhibiting. They were saying they won't participate in honoring it with prizes.
Why does it matter so much that Russia gets back into Venice? It's just art.
Because it's never just art. When a country is actively at war, when its forces are destroying museums and killing artists, readmission to the world's most prestigious art events sends a message. It says the world is moving on, that the war is becoming normal, that there are no real consequences.
The EU withdrew two million euros. Is that enough pressure?
It's significant, but it didn't stop Russia from coming back. The real pressure would have been if the Biennale itself had made the decision to exclude Russia. Instead, the institution held firm on openness, and now the jury has forced the issue by leaving.
What happens now, with visitors voting instead of a jury?
Honestly, it's uncharted territory. You lose the authority of expert judgment, but you gain something else—a direct expression of what people actually value. Whether that's better or worse depends on what you think art institutions are for.