‘We will rave on Putin’s grave’: How dancing became resistance for some Ukrainians

After four years of Russia’s full‑scale invasion that began in February 2022, Ukrainians in cities such as Kyiv and Kharkiv are keeping nightlife alive as a form of emotional and civic resistance. In underground venues and repurposed factories, crowds gather to dance, mark traditions like Maslenytsia and raise funds even as missile and drone threats persist. Clubs that closed at the start of the war have reopened—Closer resumed events about eight months after hostilities began—and some nights now serve as both social relief and a statement of defiance. For many participants and organizers, raving is a way to preserve community, maintain morale and keep parts of civilian life functioning despite sustained violence.

Key takeaways

• Closer nightclub in central Kyiv reopened roughly eight months after the February 2022 invasion and now hosts music events almost every weekend, serving as a social hub amid wartime disruptions.
• Rave culture has shifted: many events run during daytime because of curfews, and organizers routinely include medical teams and blackout‑resilient power sources.
• Kharkiv’s Some People group runs regular events—about every two weeks—and its venue doubles as a bomb shelter and operates on a generator after its original site was bombed early in the war.
• Artists and organizers say dancing functions as psychological relief and collective resistance; participants describe gatherings as morale‑boosting and community‑building under fire.
• Some Ukrainian DJs, including Daniel Detcom, left music careers to join the armed forces; several still produce or host raves during leave periods to support fundraising and solidarity efforts.
• Fewer international acts are traveling to Ukraine, creating opportunities for young Ukrainian producers and labels to fill lineups and gain exposure.
• Music sales and benefit events have been used to raise funds for the war effort, though the scale and channels of support vary by organizer.

Background

Ukraine’s electronic music scene grew rapidly after the Soviet Union’s collapse in the 1990s, as Western cultural currents mixed with local creativity. By the mid‑2010s, large underground parties, warehouse raves and festival experiments—most notably Kyiv’s Cxema gatherings—had established a reputation for adventurous programming and a DIY ethos. Those scenes provided young people with spaces for expression and community in the wake of the 2014 Revolution, which reshaped Ukrainian politics and society and left many feeling disillusioned with the old order.

When Russia launched a full‑scale invasion in February 2022, much of that cultural infrastructure was interrupted: venues closed, artists relocated, and producers faced security and economic pressures. Yet the social functions of those scenes—mutual aid, fundraising and a sense of shared belonging—helped some organizers justify restarting events. Across Kyiv, Kharkiv and other cities, reconstituted clubs and new multiuse cultural centers have combined nightlife with pragmatic wartime roles, from sheltering civilians to hosting benefit nights.

Main event

In central Kyiv a recent Maslenytsia‑marked night at Closer illustrated how ravers and club teams have adapted. Attendees moved through snow‑slick alleys toward a dimly lit venue where red light and a muffled bass line framed bodies packed on the dancefloor. Participants described the atmosphere as both escapist and defiant: a temporary removal from the front lines hundreds of miles to the east, and an insistence on communal life despite the threat of missile and drone strikes.

Valeriia Shablii, 32, who attended the event, said the nights help people to stay sane. “It’s what helps to keep us sane,” she told reporters, calling the gatherings a kind of “war‑life balance.” Her remark that “we will rave on Putin’s grave” has circulated as a blunt expression of cultural resistance while acknowledging the personal costs of conflict.

In Kharkiv, about 19 miles from the Russian border, Anton Nazarko’s Some People collective rebuilt after its original venue was bombed early in the war. The current site—housed in a Soviet‑era refrigerator factory—runs events roughly every two weeks and keeps a generator to power raves during energy blackouts, while also serving as a local shelter during strikes. Nazarko framed the work as a contribution to the civic resilience of the city, noting that sustaining normal life is itself a form of opposition to efforts to force residents to flee.

Some artists adjusted careers to meet wartime demands. Daniel Detcom, formerly a well‑known Kyiv DJ and producer with the Dots collective, joined the Ukrainian armed forces as a junior sergeant shortly after the invasion. He has continued producing music on a laptop and has organized parties during leave periods, but he said the parties are less carefree and more safety‑conscious: medical teams on site, personal first‑aid kits, and many attendees sober or cautious because of the security environment.

Analysis & implications

Dancing under duress operates on several levels: as emotional relief, a demonstration of civic normalcy and a visible refusal to concede culture to the adversary. Psychologically, shared rhythmic activity and communal celebration help reduce isolation and maintain morale for civilians and combatants who rotate through cities for rest. Organizers describe parties as practical forms of mutual support—places to coordinate aid, distribute funds, and reconnect fractured social networks.

Politically, continued nightlife sends a message about endurance. When venues reopen and people gather despite curfews and strikes, they signal that everyday life will not be extinguished. That has symbolic value domestically and internationally: it reframes Ukrainian cities not only as zones of conflict but as contested spaces where cultural life persists. At the same time, visible gatherings carry security risks; large crowds can be vulnerable to targeted attacks, forcing organizers to balance openness with discretion.

Economically, the absence of many foreign headliners has created openings for emerging Ukrainian DJs and producers to step onto larger lineups and for local labels to gain traction. This shift can accelerate artistic development and broaden the domestic scene, while also redirecting revenue toward wartime relief. Yet sustaining venues remains costly amid damaged infrastructure, energy blackouts and the ongoing threat of bombardment.

Internationally, these events complicate simple narratives of a society reduced solely to victimhood. Fundraising nights and compilation sales show cultural production can dovetail with national support efforts. However, the long‑term survival of these ecosystems will depend on both security improvements and sustained financial support—conditions that remain uncertain as the conflict continues.

Comparison & data

The table summarizes qualitative shifts reported by organizers and participants. While exact nationwide counts of openings and closures are not available in public reporting, anecdotal evidence from Kyiv and Kharkiv shows a pattern of adaptation: nightclubs that survived or were rebuilt tend to diversify their roles and schedule, increasing daytime programming and emergency preparedness.

Reactions & quotes

Organizers and artists framed raves as both refuge and resistance. Before the Closer event, attendees described their motivation as maintaining a sense of normalcy and community while the front lines remain active.

“It’s what helps to keep us sane… We say it’s like a war‑life balance.”

Valeriia Shablii, attendee

Cxema’s founder emphasized continuity with prewar political energies, noting how earlier scenes targeted Soviet inertia and corruption, while the current vector is directed at an external enemy.

“After the full‑scale invasion, the vector of resistance changed and is now directed against the enemy. We get together and dance to stay strong.”

Slava Lepsheiev, Cxema founder

Kharkiv organizers linked cultural persistence to civic defense and recovery, describing venues that double as community infrastructure in wartime.

“This is very important for Ukraine, and very important for the city. Because the Russian army wants one thing – for all people to leave.”

Anton Nazarko, Some People co‑founder

Unconfirmed

• Comprehensive national figures on how many clubs permanently closed or reopened since February 2022 are not available in public reporting and vary by region.
• Exact totals and channels for funds raised by benefit nights and compilation sales are not independently verified; organizers report contributions but detailed accounting differs by event.

Bottom line

Four years into the war, Ukraine’s rave and club scenes have not simply survived—they have transformed. Nights once devoted purely to nightlife now mix mutual aid, fundraising and shelter functions, while daytime programming and enhanced safety measures reflect practical adaptation to curfews and strikes.

These gatherings serve as both psychological relief for civilians and a symbolic assertion that cultural life endures amid conflict. The long‑term trajectory of the scene depends on security, infrastructure recovery and continued financial support; for now, organizers and ravers treat dancing as an act of community resilience and, for many, a mode of resistance.

Sources

• CNN — news organization; original reporting and interviews with attendees, organizers and artists.