The 61st Venice Biennale, often described as the Olympics of the art world, has opened not with the usual celebration of creativity but with a political crisis that threatens to overshadow the entire exhibition. The return of the Russian pavilion for the first time since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 has provoked resignations, boycott threats and angry protests, turning the Giardini della Biennale into a stage for geopolitical confrontation as charged as any gallery inside.

Activists from the feminist group Femen and members of Pussy Riot staged a bare-chested protest outside the Russian pavilion, chanting “Death in Venice, Russia go home” while releasing pink and blue-and-yellow smoke. Carabinieri guarded the entrance as the pavilion, curated with the blessing of Moscow’s culture ministry, opened its exhibition titled “Enjoy the Show, Ignore the War.” The irony was not lost on critics who pointed out that the project’s very presence is a diplomatic victory for a regime accused of war crimes. Viewed from Kyiv, the decision by Biennale president Pietrangelo Buttafuoco to readmit Russia is seen as a betrayal of the cultural isolation that the international community imposed after the invasion.

The controversy has spilled into Italian domestic politics with unusual ferocity. Elisabetta Piccolotti, a lawmaker from the left-wing Alleanza Verdi e Sinistra, clashed on live television with Claudio Cerasa, editor of Il Foglio, arguing that hosting a state-sponsored pavilion from a country violating international law constitutes cultural diplomacy with a pariah. Cerasa countered by distinguishing between Russian artists and the Russian state, but the distinction has found little traction among those who note that the pavilion is formally organised by the Russian government. The Italian culture ministry, under Giorgia Meloni’s right-wing administration, has faced calls to cut funding to the Biennale, with some coalition partners questioning why public money should support an event that legitimises Moscow.

Further complexity comes from parallel disputes. The Israeli pavilion has also drawn boycott calls, though on different grounds, and Iran cancelled its participation outright. The United States, with its own pavilion navigating accusations of complicity in Gaza, finds itself awkwardly allied with Russia’s return in the eyes of some critics. Analysts in London observe that the Biennale has become a microcosm of the fractured multilateral order: where once art transcended politics, it now reflects every fault line. The Ukrainian pavilion, meanwhile, is presenting work that directly addresses the war, offering a counter-narrative that curators hope will reclaim the moral high ground.

Looking ahead, the Biennale’s ability to function as a neutral space for art has been severely tested. Resignations from the event’s advisory board and threats of funding cuts suggest that the controversy will not fade with the opening week. Whether the Russian pavilion’s presence becomes a diplomatic opening or a permanent scar depends on how other nations respond. For now, Venice offers a stark lesson: in an era of conflict, no exhibition is innocent, and the line between art and propaganda has never been thinner.