The Ukrainian Famine and Russian Denial: A Century of Silence and Struggle

Few historical wounds cut as deep into the Ukrainian national consciousness as the Holodomor—the man-made famine of 1932–33 that killed millions. Yet almost a century later the legacy of this atrocity remains contested, particularly by Russia, which continues to deny its genocidal nature. As Ukraine wages a modern struggle for survival and sovereignty, the memory of the Holodomor resonates with a painful clarity: the past is not past, and denial remains a weapon of oppression.

The Engineered Famine

The Holodomor, from the Ukrainian words for “hunger” (holod) and “extermination” (moryty), was the result of deliberate policies enacted by Joseph Stalin’s Soviet regime. In response to Ukrainian resistance to collectivisation and growing nationalist sentiment, Moscow requisitioned grain at unsustainable levels, sealed borders to prevent flight, and criminalised gleaning—gathering fallen grain from fields. Soviet archives reveal the chilling bureaucratic precision with which starvation was administered. At its height, in the spring of 1933, thousands of Ukrainians were dying daily, often in villages just kilometres from overflowing state grain stores.

Estimates vary, but most scholars agree that between 3.5 and 5 million Ukrainians perished. Mass graves, secret burials and decimated village records complicate exact figures. Yet the evidence of intentionality is substantial. Ukrainian villages were disproportionately affected. Internal Communist Party documents show that Stalin and his inner circle viewed the famine not as a tragedy to be averted, but as a means of subjugation.

Historical Denial and Soviet Silencing

For decades, the Soviet Union denied that the famine ever occurred. Western journalists, such as Walter Duranty of The New York Times, repeated Moscow’s line or downplayed its severity, lending legitimacy to the cover-up. The few who tried to report the truth—most notably Gareth Jones and Malcolm Muggeridge—faced ostracism or vilification.

Inside Ukraine, discussion of the famine was forbidden. Survivors lived under a regime that denied their suffering, and memorialisation was impossible. It was not until the late 1980s, with the stirrings of Ukrainian independence, that open discussion became possible. Even then, Russian narratives remained hostile to the idea of the Holodomor as a distinct genocide.

The Struggle for Recognition

Following independence in 1991, Ukraine began the slow process of commemorating the famine and seeking international recognition of the Holodomor as genocide. In 2006 the Ukrainian parliament formally adopted this position. Since then, more than thirty countries have recognised the Holodomor as genocide, including the United States, Canada and much of Eastern Europe.

Russia, however, has remained vehemently opposed. The Kremlin maintains that the famine was a shared Soviet tragedy that affected multiple regions and ethnicities. Any attempt to elevate the Ukrainian experience, it claims, is revisionism or anti-Russian provocation. President Vladimir Putin has repeatedly suggested that such claims are part of a Western plot to “rewrite history” and vilify Russia.

This denial is not merely academic. It is deeply political. For many Ukrainians, recognition of the Holodomor as genocide affirms their nationhood and historic suffering. For Moscow, it represents a direct challenge to the myth of Soviet benevolence and the legitimacy of post-Soviet Russian influence.

Memory, Justice, and the War Today

In the context of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine since 2014 and the full-scale war since 2022, the Holodomor has taken on renewed relevance. Ukrainians have drawn parallels between past and present attempts to erase their nationhood—by hunger then, by missiles now. Russian efforts to destroy food infrastructure, deport civilians, and rewrite history books in occupied territories evoke grim echoes of 1933.

Monuments to the Holodomor, such as the haunting candle-shaped memorial in Kyiv, have become sites not only of mourning but of political resilience. Schools teach the history. Survivors’ accounts are published and filmed. The state archives are increasingly open. And yet the international campaign for recognition continues.

A Century of Silence, a Century of Resistance

The Holodomor is no longer a forgotten atrocity. But its denial continues to corrode the possibility of justice. Like many genocides, it is vulnerable to the erasure of memory, particularly by powerful states that wield influence over global narratives.

For Ukraine, remembering the Holodomor is not merely about the past. It is an assertion of dignity in the face of conquest. It is about Ukrainians telling their own story, on their own terms. As war once again devastates Ukrainian soil, the struggle over historical memory remains inseparable from the struggle for survival.