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Abstract

In times of war, ‘heroes’ play a key role. The romantic construction of the ‘heroes’ that defend a righteous cause against a more powerful and unjust enemy often serves as a means to legitimise political narratives and violent actions. The iconic phrase ‘Russian warship, go fuck yourself!’ uttered by a Ukrainian border guard during an imminent Russian attack on Snake Island in February 2022 became a globally known symbol of heroism and resistance that generated great solidarity against the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Taking up notions of hero studies in political science and International Relations, and utilising a narrative analysis method that focuses on the elements of setting, characterisation and emplotment, this article examines how British media outlets (The Guardian, The Times and The Sun) construct the figure of the romantic ‘hero’ within the context of the Snake Island incident, while it also delves into the possible consequences of such heroisation.

Keywords

conflict discourse heroism narrative Ukraine

‘Russian warship, go fuck yourself!’ were supposedly the last words of a Ukrainian border guard on Snake Island who refused to capitulate to the Russian warship cruiser Moskva and was then bombed and presumably killed (The Telegraph, 2022). This expression has become a symbol of heroism and resistance to the Russian aggression used in protests and demonstrations against the Russian invasion of Ukraine around the world. A Wikipedia page dedicated to this incident has been created and translated into 34 languages, and t-shirts, sweatshirts, hats, pins, face masks, tote bags, and so on have been on sale on platforms like Amazon (Amazon.com: Russian Warship Go F Yourself, 2024). The Ukrainian guard that spoke these words has filed an EU trademark application for the phrase that went viral during their stand-off (Lince, 2022). What is more, Ukraine has even made a postal stamp out of this expression (Michael, 2022). Briefly put, the utterance of these words and the resistance of the Ukrainian border guards have turned them into world-known national heroes.

The article hopes to make three small contributions to political science and International Relations (IR): First, by importing insights into the conceptualisation of the ‘hero’ from Heroism Studies into IR. While the ‘hero’ plays an essential role in politics and especially in questions of legitimation of the state, hierarchies, sacrifice and violence, there has been very little reflection on what constitutes a ‘hero’ in IR. While the analysis of heroes in IR has been frequently done eclectically, insights from Heroism Studies hopefully contribute to a more systematic analysis of the ‘hero’ by providing grounds for focusing on some characteristic features in the analysis of politics. The second contribution of the article is empirical as it seeks to investigate how ‘heroes’ are constructed in British media reporting on the Snake Island incident during the war between Russia and Ukraine by applying a method of narrative analysis which focuses on setting, characterisation and emplotment to investigate how British media outlets (The Guardian, The Times and The Sun) construct the Ukrainian ‘hero’. Thereby, it indicates that such storytelling is part of a larger romantic story of a civilisational battle between good and evil, which draws on many aspects of mythology and the classical features of a romantic genre. These constitute the Ukrainian border guards as brave heroes in a romantic struggle for an ideal of freedom and democracy against a more powerful, unjust enemy. A third contribution of the article is its indication of the political functions of the ‘hero’ in political discourse beyond the established notion of strategically generating support for the heroes’ side and the violence committed in the conflict. Specifically, it calls for more research on the unintended consequences of heroisation in war, which includes the marginalisation of misbehaviour by the hero as well as the creation of (gendered) hierarchies which constitute the ‘heroic’ behaviour as not ‘normal’ and as something which is reserved for an exceptional few.

In pursuit of these three contributions, the article is structured as follows: The first part brings insights from Heroism Studies to IR and elaborates on the character and definition of a ‘hero’, narratives of the ‘hero’, as well as the role of the ‘hero’ in politics. The second part introduces narrative analysis as a method and elaborates on key features of a romantic narrative and the role of the ‘hero’ in romance. The third part applies a method of narrative analysis which focuses on the elements of setting, characterisation and emplotment to 11 newspaper articles on the Snake Island incident in The Guardian, The Times and The Sun. The final part of the article elaborates on the potential implication of the romanticised constitution of the hero in the war on Ukraine for the support of the Ukrainian side in the conflict, for the marginalisation of misbehaviour by Ukrainian soldiers and the effects of exceptionalisation of ‘heroic’ behaviour.

The ‘hero’ in heroism studies and IR

Beyond political science, the study of heroes is well established and has developed into an own research community under the label of ‘Heroism Studies’, which lies at the border between literary studies and psychology with its own journals (Allison et al., 2023; Heroism Science: An Interdisciplinary Journal, n.d.) and conferences (Allison et al., 2023; Bethlehem Tertiary Institute, 2023). While ‘Heroism Studies’, similar to ‘Terrorism Studies’, is not an own discipline as such but a network of researchers from different disciplines interested in the same topic, there have been few attempts to bring insights from this community to Political Science and IR and reflect on the (international) politics of heroes. This is quite surprising as romantic heroes play such a central role in war culture, legitimation of violence and the establishment of the state, all topics central to political science and IR. Some of the central research interests of the field include the traits, motivations of and societal reaction to a ‘hero’ across context, time and culture. While the concept of the ‘hero’ is ever-changing, this article is predominantly interested in a romantic hero rather than other forms such as a tragic, comic or anti-hero.¹

Since most scholars who study heroism have a background in social psychology, they concentrate primarily on psychological or philosophical motivations for action in battle (Blomberg et al., 2009: 509). For instance, Zimbardo’s theory equates the banality of evil with that of heroism (Franco and Zimbardo, 2006), which plays an essential part in most myths. This is also supported by Franco et al. (2011), who added that heroic spirits arise because of external circumstances and not because of innate qualities (Frisk, 2019). Gat (2000) and Blomberg et al. (2009) described how an attack or even the threat of an attack can motivate people to behave ‘heroically’ aggressively. Others, such as Johnson et al. (2006), elaborated on how an overabundance of confidence may cause some individuals to overestimate their capabilities and act in a heroic manner.

Others have focused on the characteristics of a ‘hero’ (Anderson, 1986; Franco et al., 2011, 2018; Frisk, 2019; Jayawickreme and Di Stefano, 2012). To define heroism or heroic behaviour, they identified several qualities constituting it. One of the specific elements is the existence of a noble social objective underlying the agent’s actions. The purpose of the conducted performance becomes apparent due to the agent’s desire to see society, placing collective goals ahead of individual ones. In this sense, the agent’s disposition towards achieving socially valued goals must exist prior to executing heroic actions. Another essential element of heroism that scholars have previously considered is the willingness to take risks and make personal sacrifices. This generally refers to bravery, an integral trait of a hero that grants them the capacity to eliminate personal uncertainties and lethal consequences. Allison and Goethals (2016a: 193) concurred that this characteristic is what makes a hero’s story endearing and emotionally stirring. This is one essential element of how a ‘normal’ story can rise to the level of myth and become part of the identity-constructing aspect of community and nation-building through the telling of history. The hero becomes one of the key components of history and myths, which are key to politics, power and questions of legitimation of order (Raglan, 2003).

Franco et al. (2011) envisioned that heroism consists of three primary conditions. First, it involves a level of risk or sacrifice that exceeds other prosocial behaviours. Second, it necessitates a willingness to enter a hazardous situation despite obvious barriers to entry and escape routes. Third, the actor must circumvent significant fear to act decisively (Franco et al., 2011: 100). Incorporating all these characteristics, scholars define heroism as an individual’s dedication to a noble cause, typically aimed at advancing the welfare of others, and the willingness to accept the consequences of achieving that goal, including self-sacrifice all of which are essential in a romantic story and the creation of myth (Becker and Eagly, 2004; Franco et al., 2011; Franco and Zimbardo, 2006; Jayawickreme and Di Stefano, 2012). In addition, Franco et al. (2011: 101) identified features such as voluntarily (going beyond the call of duty) and sincerity (without external gain anticipated at the time of the act).

While risk-taking is a quality stereotypically linked to men, empathic concern for the welfare of others is typically seen as a female trait (Becker and Eagly, 2004: 166). Furthermore, behaviours commonly connected to the two binary genders – male and female – are present in the concept of a hero – respectively, strength, intelligence, ambition, bravery, but also selflessness, care and compassion (Kinsella et al., 2017; Mathers, 2022; Rankin and Eagly, 2008). Thus, it would seem that heroism is culturally androgynous and, by extension, women and men might be equally portrayed as heroes (Becker and Eagly, 2004: 166).

However, risk-taking relates to demands of physical strength in situations requiring rescuing people, such as natural disasters and war. Thus, men are privileged in the process of heroisation due to their said greater physical capabilities (Rankin and Eagly, 2008: 414). In that sense, the soldier hero represents the most significant kind of idealised masculinity in Western culture (Kitchen and Mathers, 2022: 9) since the battlefield is the ultimate arena of showcasing risk-taking behaviour and physical strength. Thus, notions of gender play a key role in the constitution of heroism and who is constructed as a ‘hero’ (Kitchen and Mathers, 2022).

Beyond the motivation and characteristics of a ‘hero’, research has also been interested in societal reactions to heroism and the role of storytelling and narratives. Allison and Goethals (2016a) investigated why people honour heroes, allowing them to be immortalised as ancient artefacts and oral traditions, namely legends, folktales and myths (Becker and Eagly, 2004; Hook, 1992). They presented the idea of a ‘Heroic Leadership Dynamic’ based on the premise that hero narratives satisfy essential cognitive and emotional goals, such as the need for knowledge, significance, hope, inspiration and development (Allison and Goethals, 2016a: 188). All of these needs are key for the rise of myths and the constitution of common identity through (hi)story-telling. Not only are heroes essential for personal improvement, but Anderson (1986) also stressed the importance of heroes as role models. He stated that heroes are renowned for their virtuous responses to events, which validate certain socially acceptable behaviours. Specifically, in a military context, hero narratives facilitate the transmission of military goals and approved behaviours to new soldiers, as well as the attribution of value to the goals (Anderson, 1986: 599).

While stories and especially myths have played an essential part in Heroism Studies for a long time, narratives in IR have only recently been taken seriously for the investigation of a diverse set of issues, including conflict, war, Brexit and military recruitment (Beck and Spencer, 2021; Kuusisto, 2018; Lebow, 2003; Ringmar, 2006; Spencer and Oppermann, 2020). Such works have demonstrated how states utilise ‘strategic narratives’ to shape world politics (Freedman, 2013; Krebs and Jackson, 2007; Miskimmon et al., 2013), how modes of rhetorical expression can influence national security policy (Krebs, 2015; Widmaier, 2014) and what role narratives play in identity construction processes (Berenskoetter, 2014; Campbell, 1998; Hønneland, 2010). Narratives are here understood as a meaning-generating structure (Hagström and Gustafsson, 2019; Howarth, 2010) and serve as a way to comprehend what, how, where, when and why events occur, and who the protagonists are (Burke, 1945; Frye, 1957). It is characterised by an overarching chronological storyline (Elliott, 2005) which typically concludes with an evaluation (Labov and Waletzky, 1997), which provides lessons for the future and recommendations regarding which policies are reasonable and attainable to adopt and support (Hagström and Gustafsson, 2019; Jones and McBeth, 2010). Hence, political elites have the ability to strategically manipulate narratives, such as ‘hero stories’, to fulfil their psychological and political desires and goals and, in more extreme cases, provoke wars (Allison and Goethals, 2016a; Frimer et al., 2014; Miskimmon et al., 2013).

Both Heroism Studies and IR concur that the ‘hero’, in particular, plays an essential role in romantic narratives. In a romantic narrative, one generally encounters two antagonistic sides, the hero and the villain(s). While the former is frequently represented by noble, courageous, selfless, proud and sacrificial qualities, the latter is marked by black traits that place them in total opposition to the former (Hogan, 2009; Klapp, 1954). Romantic heroes are characterised by several features which are in line with many of the definitional elements of what constitutes a ‘hero’ more generally. First, he or she² is said to be a strong, brave, courageous and, more importantly, truthful, upright, proud and honourable character who follows certain ideals (Hansen, 2006: 100; Ku, 1999: 71). In the conflict, the hero is characterised into the underdog position in the adventure, struggling against the odds, facing an opponent in an economically or physically stronger yet morally weaker position (Feldman, 2001: 133). Second, the ‘hero’ is not perfect and divine, whereas the opponent is pure evil. The dichotomy is less extreme due to the human nature of both the hero and the opponent (Fischer, 1991: 21). Third, the hero’s humanness helps us relate to the character. This is reinforced by the character’s personal insights, such as their ideas, thoughts, emotions, human reactions and ‘true-to-life dialogue’ (Fischer, 1991: 28), that are realistic and understandable. In a romance, the character becomes likeable, and there is a strong identification between the reader and the hero (Cawelti, 1976). A romantic narrative ‘describes a human fate in such a way that the reader can identify with it’ (Fischer, 1991: 30), it ‘is fundamentally a drama of self-identification’ (White, 1973: 8).

Moreover, a romantic narrative typically includes a conflict in which the reader, viewer or listener identifies with the protagonist (Jameson, 1975; Spencer, 2016). As cited by Spencer, Frye argued that the central form of romance is dialectical. Everything revolves around a conflict between the hero and his adversary, and the reader’s values are tied to the hero (Spencer, 2016: 42). In this conflict, the hero often faces an uphill battle against the odds. The causes of conflict in a romantic narrative are situated in the form of injustice in the established order. Therefore, in romantic narratives, the hero must defeat a much larger, more powerful opponent to challenge the status quo. The hero is fighting for some kind of ideals such as liberation, justice, freedom, democracy, (and) love and so on. In the context of love, the emotions involved can also encompass one’s family, community or country (Cawelti, 1976). There is a certain level of idealism in the emplotment in which the hero is seeking a kind of utopian future (Radford, 1986: 9).

While such romanticised narratives structure conflicts immediately along the lines of heroes and villains, there is the possibility of turning the narrative around and retelling the story with the villain as the hero, taking on a cruel world and fighting political oppression. A fascination with the villain may lead to an openness of alternative narratives, such as those in which far-fight politicians such as Putin, Trump or German far-right politician Björn Höcke struggle against Western decadency, mass migration or woke culture. Although ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ swap places, the structure of the romantic story remains the same in which a weaker actor fights an asymmetric conflict against a stronger, illegitimate adversary for the greater good.

Narrative analysis

Narrative analysis has been used to explore many political issues, such as political polarisation in environmental governance (Warner, 2019), refugee perceptions towards democratic citizenship (Hur, 2020), examining legislative debates in the United States (Evans and Naraisimhan, 2020), exploring dominant and marginalised narratives in IR (Spencer, 2019), to name a few.

To understand narrative analysis, we need to first establish what a ‘narrative’ is. Barthes (1975: 237) explained that

Among the vehicles of narrative are articulated language, whether oral or written, pictures, still or moving, gestures, and an ordered mixture of all those substances; narrative is present in myth, legend, fable, tale, short stories, epics, history, tragedy, drame [suspense drama], comedy, pantomime, painting . . . stained-glass windows, movies, local news, conversations. Moreover, in this infinite variety of forms, it is present at all times, in all places, in all societies; indeed narrative starts with the very history of mankind; there is not, there has never been anywhere, any people without narrative; all classes, all human groups, have their stories. . .. Like life itself, it is there, international, transhistorical, transcultural.

Nevertheless, not all language, text and communication activity are a narrative (Riessman, 2008: 4). Generally, people do not narrate every detail of a circumstance. What one chooses to narrate is significant ‘because it stands out by posing a problem or exception’ (Patterson and Monroe, 1998: 320). The purpose of the narrative is to ‘resolve the imbalance or uncertainty of the problem and to restore equilibrium’ (Patterson and Monroe, 1998: 321). Furthermore, Patterson and Monroe (1998: 321) defined narratives as ‘essentially normative, even when the voice of the narrator is well hidden’.

One of the key debates on the role of narratives in politics is on the power of narratives and whether narratives are employed strategically to achieve particular goals or if narratives have a life or their own. Where does agency lie, with the narrators, the narrative itself or with the audience? While authors such as Miskimmon et al. (2013) argued in favour of the deliberate employment of strategic narratives as a political instrument, others hold that it is about ‘narrative power’ (Holland and Mathieu, 2023) in which the narrative itself becomes powerful and can develop beyond the intentions of the author. As Holland and Mathieu (2023: 2) pointed out, ‘Authors retain influence but less than total control, as stories themselves start to shape, enable, and constrain political possibilities’. Scholars point to narrative structure which has political power as certain means of storytelling structures seem more influential in politics than others (Considine, 2022; Holland and Mathieu, 2023; Oppermann and Spencer, 2018). This argument is linked to the role of the audience and the idea that narratives become powerful via their intertextuality and the ability to link themselves to already well-known stories and expectations of the audience, thereby embedding themselves in an overarching structure of meaning (Spencer, 2016; Spencer and Oppermann, 2020). This article will speak to this debate, and by investigating the constitution of the romantic hero in media discourse, it sides with the idea that political power lies in the narratives themselves.

Narrative analysis as a method has gained considerable ground in IR, with different means of analysis evolving over the last years (Freistein and Gadinger, 2020; Krebs, 2015; Kuusisto, 2019; Shenhav, 2015). The following empirical analysis will apply one such approach which specifically focuses on three narrative elements of setting, characterisation and emplotment (Spencer, 2016, 2019; Spencer and Oppermann, 2024). The first element of setting refers to the background or location in which the story unfolds. Similar to films or stage plays, this element is vital to the overall narrative. In the case of a written text, the setting has to be explicitly indicated since this is the only way for the reader to construct the background. It is important to note that these backgrounds are not only individually and subjectively constituted, but also ‘they draw on culturally imbedded story genres which are commonly shared throughout society and are thereby intersubjective’ (Spencer, 2019: 126). Instead of being a passive background, it can be a part of the action and give a reason or indicate why the story unfolds the way it does. Hence, settings can provide very useful insights into the justifications or reasons for actions since they set the limits of appropriate behaviour in a given context (Spencer, 2019: 126).

A second key narrative element is the characterisation of actors in the story. A character with a particular identity is an essential element of a narrative. ‘The actors are provided with distinct traits. In this manner, they are individualised and transformed into characters’ (Toolan, 2001: 41, cited in Spencer, 2016: 126). The ways in which the characterisation and identity of an actor can be influenced in a story are by (1) giving the agent a name or a label, (2) characterising them by placing them in relation to others, (3) describing the agent’s physical attributes such as clothes or outer appearance, (4) characterising the agent through their thought process or direct speech and (5) describing how the agent acts (Spencer, 2019: 126–127).

The third narrative element is emplotment. It explains ‘why settings are the way they are and why they behave the way they do’ (Spencer, 2019: 127). Thus, emplotment provides an overarching context and makes characters, their behaviour and events intelligible and coherent. It is by emplotting an actor in settings that actions become meaningful. A narrative cannot consist only of settings and characters. Actions and events and their meaning through their emplotment are crucial for a narrative. Significantly, the causal dimension of emplotment is important. The notion of it exemplifies how events hang together (Spencer, 2019: 127).

These elements of the setting of the story, characterisation of the actor and the emplotment of events propose analytical categories in language and text. In the next section, our focal points of analysis will be these three categories keeping in mind that their lines may sometimes blur. We dissect the written text into individual words and phrases and divide them into these three categories. Having gained an idea of the dominant representations within each category, we retell the story using quotations as a collage.

Snake Island and the romantic hero in Ukraine

As a part of the multi-pronged Russian invasion, on 24 February 2022, the Russian cruiser Moskva attacked Snake Island, located in the Black Sea, south of the Ukrainian port city of Odesa and west of Crimea. As a result, 13 Ukrainian border guards were killed³ (Lendon, 2022).

An audio recording that circulated on social media and news media right after the incident revealed the final communication between the Russian warship and the Ukrainian border guards on the island. The interaction was the following:

I am a Russian military ship. I propose you lay down your arms immediately to avoid bloodshed and unjustified deaths. Otherwise, you will be bombed. I am repeating: I am a Russian military ship. I propose you lay down your arms, or you will be hit. Acknowledge.

Russian warship, go fuck yourself (The Telegraph, 2022).

The short expression ‘Russian warship, go fuck yourself’ has gained cultural and political significance – it has become a symbol of heroism and resistance to the Russian aggression used in protests and demonstrations against the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Furthermore, merchandise with this expression has become popular (Amazon.com: Russian Warship Go F Yourself, 2024). Probably the most substantial legitimation of the expression remains the creation of the post stamp named ‘Russian warship, go fuck yourself’, illustrating a soldier on the coast showing a middle finger to a military ship (Michael, 2022). Postal stamps, among commemorative street-naming and currency, contribute to citizenship and common identity constructions by being present in the citizens’ everyday environment. The messages of their imagery ‘may enhance a sense of “us” by creating a cherished identity-political landscape that confirms the majority’s feelings of belonging’ (Raento and Brunn, 2008: 49). Thus, postal stamps can be in circulation for centuries and are deemed to play an important role in promoting national identity and being messengers of political transition (Brunn, 2011).

Thus, the Snake Island incident turns out to be a case worth looking into in the broader context of the ongoing war in Ukraine. Furthermore, the narratives deriving from the Snake Island incident prove to be an illustration of the construction of a ‘hero’ and ‘heroism’ in wartime. Hence, in the next chapter, we employ narrative analysis to examine how the Ukrainian border guards have been constructed as romantic heroes in news articles by UK news outlets The Guardian, The Times and The Sun, which are representative of left-wing, conservative and tabloid perspectives of events. British media representations were chosen, as the United Kingdom is one of the leading supporters of Ukraine in Europe, and one would expect that the incident on Snake Island will produce significant media output for the analysis. The specific newspapers were chosen in order to grasp a broad range of political perspectives, interests and styles. Despite their different predispositions, the articles tell a very similar story of a heroic underdog, ‘good’, struggling against an unjust and powerful ‘evil’.

The analysed articles consist of publications in the period between 25 February 2022 and 30 March 2023. The selection was made based on the search for ‘Snake Island’ and ‘Russian warship, go fuck yourself’. As a result, 11 articles appeared (The Guardian, 2022a, 2022b, 2022c, 2022d, 2022e; The Sun, 2022a, 2022b; The Times, 2022, 2023a, 2023b) and were analysed by applying narrative analysis, following the framework of setting, characterisation and emplotment.

Setting

The events on Snake Island are set in a larger conflict between good and evil, which is fought out in a ‘roughly 16 hectare (40-acre) rocky island owned by Ukraine’ (The Guardian, 2022e). The setting of the island is described as a ‘mini-territory’ (The Guardian, 2022b), ‘rocky’ (The Guardian, 2022c) or ‘windswept’ (The Times, 2023a), ‘outcrop’ (The Times, 2023b), a ‘tiny island’ (The Sun, 2022b) or a ‘tiny Black Sea outpost’ (The Guardian, 2022b). It is constituted as a ‘wild’ (The Guardian, 2022b) and ‘beautiful’ (The Times, 2023b) place: ‘It’s a beautiful place. You can see the sea all around. In winter it’s very cold. There’s a permanent wind’ (The Guardian, 2022b). The island is said to be located either in relation to Ukraine, Crimea or Romania and Moldova. While some emphasise that the island is located ‘186 miles (300 km) west of Crimea’ (The Guardian, 2022a, 2022d). Others stress the closeness to Ukraine as it ‘sits 22 miles from Ukraine’s southern coast’ (The Guardian, 2022b) or just ‘south of the port of Odesa’ (The Guardian, 2022c), thereby underlining the legitimacy of the claim that the territory belongs to Ukraine through closeness. Some even link the island’s location to other European states considered to be part of the ‘self’ in the conflict with Russia as it ‘sits close to the territorial waters of Romania and Moldova’ (The Times, 2023b). ‘Snake Island – known as Zmiinyi Island in Ukrainian – is situated near the Ukrainian and Romanian coasts along the Black Sea’ (The Guardian, 2022e). The setting emphasises a combination of legitimate Ukrainian claim to the territory and the closeness to another member of the European Union: ‘Snake Island is ruled by Ukraine, but it sits just miles from the coast of Romania’ (The Sun, 2022a). This very much fits the idea of the sea as space of conflict and tropes of heroism in European history in which Eastern Europe is the battleground against the hordes of villains from the East (e.g. the Mongols on the planes of Ukraine or the Turks at the gates of Vienna).

Mythology plays an important role in telling the heroic narrative as it is key to the meaning-making and legitimising functions of the story. Myths can here be considered the ‘socially significant product of humanity’s irrepressible urge to construct meaning’ (von Hendy, 2002: 333). Myths, especially in combination with the notion of sacrifice, are ‘significance-creating narratives’ (Bliesemann de Guevara, 2016: 21), which are at the centre of community building and group identity. They are a fundamental part of how sacrifice becomes acceptable. For example, beyond the description and location one can also encounter historical references which place the conflict in a larger setting and link the confrontation to an epic struggle over an ‘ancient place’ (The Guardian, 2022b):

The island was associated with legends. The Greeks knew it as White Island, after its rock formations, or – as one story had it – the colour of its serpents. It was also associated with warriors. According to mythology, it was where the spirit of Achilles went after his death at Troy. In some versions, Helen of Troy joined him. Sailors were advised not to sleep there, lest they anger the gods (The Guardian, 2022b).

The conflict is thereby situated in a mythological setting in which the reader encounters a ‘last stand’ confrontation between ‘good’ and ‘evil’, or the ‘powerful’ against the ‘underdog’. The response of the Ukrainian soldiers to the Russian warship recalls then, for example, Xerxes’ demand for the Greeks to surrender their weapons, and Leonidas’ answer of ‘come and take them!’.⁴

Similarly, the Snake Island incident speaks to the myth of the ‘last stand’ such as George A. Custer’s fight and death in the battle of the Little Bighorn which is one of the most well-known stories which involves the process of mythicisation of individual sacrifice in Western history (Dippie, 1994). Part of this ‘last stand’ setting is the notion that the object of contention is worth fighting over. It provides ‘the Leonidas’ of the story with a worthwhile rational motive for risking or sacrificing himself and his men (Grant, 1961). Overall, despite the small size, Snake Island is considered important as it is frequently referred to as a ‘strategic island’ (The Sun, 2022b; The Times, 2023a), which is ‘strategically important’ (The Guardian, 2022e): ‘The tiny island is strategically important as its fall will allow Russia to claim territorial waters stretching 12 nautical miles out to sea’ (The Sun, 2022a). This is in line with the basic assumptions of a romantic setting in which the hero is struggling not in an epic final battle between the most powerful adversaries but in smaller asymmetric conflicts, which are nevertheless important for an ideal and the well-being of others.

Characterisation

Considering the characterisation of the actors involved in the Snake Island incident on the Ukranian side, one frequently encounters the label of ‘border guards’ (The Guardian, 2022d), ‘young soldiers’ (The Guardian, 2022b), ‘Ukrainian soldiers’ (The Guardian, 2022e) or ‘Ukrainian defenders’ (The Guardian, 2022d). The actor is characterised as having died while ‘defending’ (The Guardian, 2022a, 2022d) and ‘protecting Snake Island’ (The Sun, 2022a):

Ukrainian soldiers who died defending an island in the Black Sea from an air and sea bombardment reportedly told an officer on board a Russian navy warship to ‘go fuck yourself’ when asked to surrender (The Guardian, 2022e).

They are said to be ‘13 defiant border guards’ (The Sun, 2022a) who ‘fearlessly’ (The Sun, 2022b) ‘resisted’ (The Times, 2023a) and ‘bravely told a Russian warship to “go f**k yourselves” before they were brutally massacred after refusing to surrender’ (The Sun, 2022b). They are characterised as ‘defiant’ (The Guardian, 2022c, 2022d), ‘brave defenders’ (The Guardian, 2022b), ‘refusing to surrender’ (The Sun, 2022b). The ‘bravery of the young soldiers’ (The Guardian, 2022b) is said to be a ‘rallying cry for Ukraine’s defenders’ (The Guardian, 2022c) and inspire ‘widespread admiration’ (The Guardian, 2022d). The ‘heroic radio outburst’ (The Guardian, 2022b) and their ‘bravery’ (The Guardian, 2022b, 2022d) makes them into ‘accidental heroes’ (The Times, 2023b) to have ‘done something very brave, or very stupid, or perhaps both’ (The Times, 2023a) and as a consequence were considered to have ‘died heroically’ (The Guardian, 2022e). They are considered ‘heroes’ (The Guardian, 2022c), ‘national heroes’ (The Guardian, 2022b) or ‘heroes of Snake Island’ (The Times, 2023a) who were awarded ‘the Hero of Ukraine award’ (The Guardian, 2022e). Next to the mythological setting mentioned above, the agents of the story, the Ukrainian border guards, are incorporated into a greater struggle between good and evil, who sacrificed their lives and have ‘fallen like Leonidas’s Spartans at the pass at Thermopylae, a symbol of death before dishonour and an inspiration to their fellow Ukrainians’ (The Times, 2023b).

At the same time, the actor is not a God-like superhero but a human, as one can identify with the protagonist. He is characterised as ‘a good guy, calm, and accomplished’ (The Times, 2023b), a ‘melancholy figure’ (The Guardian, 2022b) and ‘a modest and diffident person, tall and a little awkward, his dark hair receding into an arrow shape’ (The Guardian, 2022b) who ‘was too busy to be scared’ (The Guardian, 2022b). The hero ‘doesn’t want the attention’ (The Times, 2023b), he is ‘reluctant’ (The Guardian, 2022b) and does not want to be a hero: ‘Mainly he doesn’t want his mother to know he’s been swearing’ (The Times, 2023b). At the same time, one of the protagonists noted, ‘It’s something to be proud of. The actual fight wasn’t equal – just ordinary guys against a warship. We couldn’t compete or take them on physically, but at least we did something’ (The Times, 2023a). The characterisation of the actors fits well into the overarching ‘last stand’ setting in which the hero is sacrificing themselves as the valiant defenders of Europe against an evil villain.⁵ Especially, the notion of sacrifice is central to the heroic narrative as the actions of resistance in the face of a numerically and militarily superior adversary are not likely to be immediately successful and lead to a military victory. Rather, the sacrifice is a symbolic act of defiance for a utopian ideal that will not have a material effect on the outcome of the conflict but serves as a mythological artefact which is positioned as an exemplary event in a larger struggle between good and evil.

Emplotment

Regarding the emplotment of the setting, characters and the event, one encounters the narration of an asymmetric conflict typical of a romantic narrative in which a weaker hero struggles against a stronger evil and unjust opponent for a greater good. The conflict itself is considered to be a one-sided encounter in which Russia uses its ‘strongest capability’ (The Times, 2022), ‘most powerful vessel in the region’ (The Guardian, 2022b) or ‘the most powerful warship in the Black Sea’ (The Times, 2022) against those defending the island: ‘mighty Moskva flagship’ (The Times, 2023b). ‘It was almost 200 metres long, had a crew of 510 and was equipped with guided cruise missiles and anti-aircraft systems. It was a lethal Soviet-built gun platform, capable of mincing anything in its path’ (The Guardian, 2022b).

In contrast, the Ukrainian side is said to be physically a lot weaker as it ‘had no heavy arms of any kind [. . .] only sniper rifles and grenades’ (The Guardian, 2022b). The defence of Snake Island or the entire Ukraine is considered an uphill struggle, and it was a fight against all odds:

Vladimir Putin had sent armoured vehicles – lots of them – to Ukraine’s borders. It was evident the island – 185 miles west of occupied Crimea – would be hard to defend in the event of a full-scale Russian attack. Since annexing the Crimean peninsula in 2014, Moscow had militarised the Black Sea and steadily reduced access for Ukrainian ships (The Guardian, 2022b).

‘The incident on Snake Island gained such notoriety because it embodied the Ukrainian fighting spirit in the face of an overwhelming foe’ (The Times, 2023b). We find an intertextual linkage to other stories as the conflict is considered a ‘David and Goliath tale of the Ukrainian guards resisting the Russian navy’ (The Times, 2023b), in which ‘the pithy Ukrainian David standing up to the Russian Goliath’ (The Times, 2023b).

The narrative is emplotted as an important fight, as ‘Europe’s biggest war since 1945’ (The Guardian, 2022b) and as a ‘struggle for survival against a brutal larger neighbour’ (The Guardian, 2022b). The confrontation is narrated as a battle between good and evil in which a situation and the decision of 13 border guards on a small island is an expression of an individualised conflict about sacrifice for an ideal:

From that moment [the attack on Snake Island], the bravery of all Ukrainians began to move the needle. We have forged our own future through a path of devastation and loss. But the evil that carved out that landscape remains (The Times, 2023c).

The ‘Russian warship go fuck yourself’ became a cultural artefact, a deeply embedded narrative fragment, in a larger story in which the emotional decision not to surrender in the face of certain death becomes understandable and desirable despite its rational absurdity for those who have to suffer the consequences. ‘The five words went on a great journey, travelling far beyond the transmission station where they were first uttered. They perfectly summed up Ukraine’s response to Russia’s overweening assault, to its arrogance and presumption’ (The Guardian, 2022b). The narrative enforces the emotionality of sacrifice in a ‘savage invasion’ (The Guardian, 2022b) by mythological evil ‘orcs’ (The Times, 2023b). The Ukraine and soldiers on Snake Island are fighting for the greater good and ideals of freedom and democracy (The Guardian, 2022b) as, following the withdrawal of Russian forces from the island, ‘Snake Island is free again. And it is Ukrainian’ (The Guardian, 2022b).

Possible consequences of the romantic hero

Beyond the insights on the conceptualisation of the ‘hero’ from Heroism Studies and the empirical analysis of how the ‘hero’ was constructed in the case of the Snake Island incident in British newspapers, the article in the last part wants to call for more research on the intended and unintended consequences of such narratives of the romantic hero. Beyond the increased support for Ukraine by the British government and the British public, the following sections will consider the silencing of misbehaviour by the hero, the exceptionalisation and the creation of (gendered) hierarchies by such narratives.

Support for war and the silencing of misbehaviour

It is well established that the personalisation and emotionalisation of language through, for example, the constitution of heroic narratives leads to public support for certain policy options more than others (Anderson, 1986: 594; Homolar, 2022: 331; Lakoff, 1991; Stern, 1995).

Since the beginning of the war, numerous heads of states and government officials have declared their support for the Ukraine, not only with official statements but also in the form of military, financial and humanitarian aid (Kiel Institute, 2023). The United Kingdom has emerged as a prominent advocate for Ukraine. Since February 2022, this country has committed about 12 billion pounds in total aid to Ukraine, with 7.1 billion pounds specifically allocated for military aid. The government allocated 2.3 billion pounds for each of the fiscal years 2022/2023 and 2023/2024. In addition, on 12 January 2024, the government announced an additional 2.5 billion pounds in funding for the year 2024/2025 (Mills, 2024). Moreover, the Ministry of Defence will also deploy what is called the largest and most comprehensive assortment of weapons ever dispatched from the United Kingdom. The arsenal consists of about 1600 missiles designed for attacking targets and countering airborne dangers, in addition to more than 400 military vehicles. This kit is specifically designed to counter the Russian invasion on land, sea and air (The UK Government, 2024b).

The United Kingdom has demonstrated its unwavering loyalty by being the first state to formalise its commitment to Ukraine (Sheftalovich et al., 2024). Both governments have officially established and finalised the UK-Ukraine Agreement on Security Cooperation, which guarantees a long-term, ongoing commitment to Ukraine’s security. It allows Ukraine to access unrestricted security assistance, which includes the exchange of intelligence, cyber security support, medical and military training, and collaboration in the defence industry. Besides, the UK Prime Minister, Rishi Sunak, openly expresses his unconditional endorsement in his remark (The UK Government, 2024a):

For two years, Ukraine has fought with great courage to repel a brutal Russian invasion. They are still fighting, unfaltering in their determination to defend their country and defend the principles of freedom and democracy.

I am here today with one message: the UK will also not falter. We will stand with Ukraine, in their darkest hours and in the better times to come.

These two statements highlight the political incorporation of a heroic narrative by the political leader of the United Kingdom. The UK government demonstrates their alignment with Ukraine as the central figure and ‘hero’ in this context by emphasising Ukraine’s heroic qualities, such as courage and unwavering desire to take risks in order to protect their land and defend fundamental values. The state’s political leader unequivocally expresses their unwavering support for Ukraine, indicating the willingness to employ violence under any circumstances until Russia acknowledges its defeat. Public opinion seems to fit this narrative as a YouGov report from February 2023 reveals that 53% of Britons favour supporting Ukraine in the conflict with Russia until Russia withdraws from the country, even if this prolongs the war and its consequences. In contrast, only 23% prefer advocating for a negotiated peace that would allow Russia to retain control over certain parts of Ukraine (Smith, 2023). Another poll by Ipsos indicates the same tendency of United Kingdom’s support for military action. More than 60% are ‘in favour of continuing to support Ukraine until all Russian troops have withdrawn from territory claimed by Ukraine (68%), while 63% support providing weapons/air-defence systems to the Ukrainian military’ (Skinner, 2023).

The distinction between heroes and villains in a narrative is classically one of good versus evil, showing that the morality of a character’s behaviour is the main factor in audience perceptions of characters as heroes or villains (Frazer, 2023). Thus, these narratives shape the perception of a character in the minds of audiences, creating models of what a given character’s morality must entail. For example, the ‘fairy tale’ that pictured Iraq as the ultimate villain was effective in persuading the United States and even global citizens to support their country following 9/11 as the governments were able to narrate themselves as underdogs facing a shadowy ‘axis of evil’.⁶ Moreover, with the assistance of media exposure, this narrative can be easily disseminated. The strong depiction of villains in media publishing will increase the reader/listener’s contact with the story’s plot and make the vilification appear more realistic (Nolan, 2015: 63). Negative perceptions of people allow them to justify violence as a reasonable response. Thus, from this point of view, heroic narratives can naturalise war. In other words, they take events that should be extraordinary and terrible and make them simultaneously ordinary and enticing (Hogan, 2009; Kiryukhin, 2015).

Apart from support, heroism also produces a void in attention. The romantic ‘hero’ is usually conflated with positive attributes such as courage, idealism and integrity. The presence of these features desensitises the observer to the hero’s misbehaviour, thus marginalising it. So, grave forms of unacceptable behaviour, such as war crimes, cannot be committed by ‘heroes’. As Kitchen and Mathers (2022: 220) also contended, global politics needs ‘heroes’ because ‘the political capital wielded by individual heroes can draw a community’s attention to or away from a common cause’, among other reasons.

In the case of the Ukrainian war, Amnesty International (AI, 2022) issued a statement in August 2022 in which they presented findings regarding military bases ‘set up in residential areas including schools and hospitals’ and ‘attacks launched from populated civilian areas’, highlighting that ‘Being in a defensive position does not exempt the Ukrainian military from respecting international humanitarian law’. This statement was met with immediate backlash from Ukrainian government officials (Koshiw, 2022; Kuznetsov, 2022; Radio Free Europe, 2023). The main criticism was that ‘Amnesty has essentially offered Russia the justification it wanted – but certainly did not need – to indiscriminately strike nonmilitary targets’ (Epshtein, 2022). This led to AI backpedalling and establishing an independent legal panel to review its initial press release and publishing an 18-page report on it, which accepted ‘that Ukrainian forces could or might have violated IHL’ but ‘that the conclusion that they did violate IHL was too categorical’ (AI, 2023: iii).

Exceptionalisation and the creation of hierarchies

The ‘hero’ as such has to stand out in the crowd in a certain situation, time and space. In that sense, for someone to be defined as a ‘hero’, there have to be individuals that possess not only positive attributes for the heroic behaviour to be contrasted to and praised as such. Hence, the narrative constitution of the ‘hero’ automatically establishes the ‘normal’. Thus, a hierarchy is created in which the ‘hero’, who manifests exceptional qualities such as the courage to risk one’s life, is placed above the ‘normal’ person, who might experience fear and be passive in stressful situations. Consequently, the exceptionalisation of the hero can legitimise the non-heroic behaviour of most people since it is normal not to be a hero. An empirical example of this phenomenon is illustrated by Heinkelmann-Wild et al. (2019: 229–230):

The story of the ‘good’ and ‘heroic’ refugee who fought against terrorism to save Germany does not undermine the dominant discourse which constitutes refugees as ‘bad’– in contrast, it supports its cementation. [. . .] the story of the ‘good’ refugee is told to be an exceptional story. And it does exactly that: portray refugees who oppose terrorism as exceptional.

Hero narratives thereby potentially run counter to their intentions of providing inspiration to others, as they constitute not only the ‘hero’ but also the ‘normal’. The heroisation produces a contradictory situation in which the hero is supposed to inspire others to do the same while creating exceptionality as a key characteristic of the ‘hero’. Not everyone can be a hero. The exceptionality of the hero creates a narrative in which it is acceptable not to be a hero as this is presented as the standard. An empirical indicator of this is the level of understanding in the political debate in some Western European States on draft dodging by Ukrainian men who are attempting to flee the country rather than fight against Russian forces in the ongoing war in Ukraine. In Germany, for example, there is a widespread cross-party agreement which understands and accepts the desire of men to flee Ukraine rather than heroically fight the invading force. For instance, Roderich Klesewetter, member of the Bundestag for the conservative party CDU, stated that ‘[if] someone refuses military service, he will be granted special protection in the Federal Republic’ (Krasenbrink and Jandi, 2023). Similarly, Katrin Göring-Eckardt (Vice President of the Bundestag, the Greens) proclaimed that ‘conscientious objection to a military draft must always be possible’ (Krasenbrink and Jandi, 2023). The policy that Ukrainian men receive residence permits regardless of the military draft in Ukraine and disregard for the demand by the Ukrainian government to deport these individuals back to Ukraine fits the notion of exceptionality of the hero and the normalisation of the ‘not-hero’ (Bröckling, 2019).

Linked to this is the creation of gendered hierarchies. Persons recognised as heroes usually carry out their heroic deeds within social roles typical for men – soldiers, firefighters, policemen, border guards and so on. More specifically, the battlefield turns out to be the place where the standard of heroism is created because

the intersection of heroism with notions of what it means to be a soldier and what it means to be a man creates a powerful message about an ideal type of masculinity that few may ever live up to but to which all can aspire (Mathers, 2022: 57).

An essential part of the characterisation of the hero is also visible in the case of the Snake Island, where the swearing⁷ male border guard is constituted as the masculine hero who is ‘protecting’ the nation, state and ultimately, women. As Sjoberg and Peet (2011: 168) pointed out,

[t]his masculinity is necessarily framed in opposition to subordinate femininities because just warriors/(brave men) cannot be heroes without beautiful souls/(innocent women) to perform heroics to save, and in opposition to feminized subordinate masculinities of men who cannot and/or will not perform protection’.

This is apparent in the media discourses of war reporting and advocating for humanitarian help by employing the ‘women and children’ narrative (Dema Moreno et al., 2022; Enloe, 1990; Vieira, 2014). It implies helplessness and puts adult women, who are supposed to have agency, and children, who are supposed to be taken care of by the adults, in one category of people that need to be protected. As Vieira (2014) stated, ‘Women are associated with children because they are, in fact, regarded as children . . . Their evacuation from the theatres of devastation and war goes hand in hand with the evisceration of their political agency’.

And if the ‘heroic’ role of women in front-line fighting and the use of violence is mentioned, it is made into an exception which needs to be highlighted and thereby again contributes to the double exceptionalisation of female heroes. This is evident even just in the captions of articles in The Sun, which either overemphasise the ‘sameness’ to men fighting or relegate the decision to the non-political realm of revenge for the death of their children:

GIRL POWER Our women will protect Ukrainian soil just like our men and kill Vladimir Putin’s evil forces with our own hands (Harvey, 2022).

FIGHTING BACK You’ve killed our children – now you will pay, women of Ukraine warn Putin as they take up arms (Perrie, 2022).

In line with the argument of double exceptionalisation, women are exceptional first for fighting against the villain (in this case, Russia) and second for displaying qualities such as courage and risk-taking, typically perceived as ‘masculine’. These perceptions are rooted in essentialist assumptions that women are more peaceful because of their ability to bear children and their ‘inherent’ predisposition for caretaking. Thus, the role of women has been confined to the private sphere, and various acts of resistance in times of conflict and war that do not take the shape of carrying guns or front-line fighting, for example, can be disregarded or unacknowledged ‘preserving the fiction that war, militaries, and the sites where heroic acts take place are male-only spaces’ (Kitchen and Mathers, 2022: 11).

When women do show up in the ultimate arena of ‘hero’ creation, that is, the battlefield, their violent acts are inevitably associated with their maternal instincts and motivation to avenge and/or protect their children (Gentry and Sjoberg, 2021).⁸ Despite having the ‘noble aim’ of recognising women as active participants in the war, such media framing of their motivation as either ‘exceptional’ or as related to their motherly instincts undermines women’s political agency and reaffirms the gendered hierarchies created by the romantic narratives of the ‘hero’ in war.

Conclusion

The case of Snake Island has proven to be a site of romantic narrative construction and constitution of ‘heroes’ and ‘heroic’ behaviour. The expression ‘Russian Warship, Go fuck yourself’ not only went immediately viral but also became a symbol of resistance for the Ukrainian people, generating solidarity and identification with the ‘heroes’ that supposedly gave their lives before surrendering to the foreign invasion. By applying narrative analysis on 11 news articles by UK media (The Guardian, The Times and The Sun) focusing on the elements of setting, characterisation and emplotment, we investigated how the 13 border guards on Snake Island have been constituted as heroes, who ‘fearlessly’ ‘resisted’ and ‘bravely told a Russian warship to “go f**k yourselves” before they were brutally massacred after refusing to surrender’ while ‘protecting the strategic Snake Island’. Our analysis illustrated how elements of mythological and romantic narratives interplay in the construction of heroes in the Snake Island incident at the beginning of the war in Ukraine in February 2022.

By bringing insights from Heroism Studies to political science and IR, we looked into the potential (un)intended consequences of such romantic narratives of the ‘hero’ in war. The article hopes to have plausibilised that they contribute to the support of the Ukrainian side in the conflict by the British public. At the same time, it indicated that such romanticisation can have unintended consequences, such as potentially marginalising and silencing of misbehaviour by Ukrainian soldiers, as well as contributing to the creation of (gendered) hierarchies and the exceptionalisation of ‘heroic’ behaviour.

This calls for further research into at least three very different areas. First, one could take a more positivist turn and consider the question of the ‘effect’ of heroic narratives on public opinion. While we were only able to theoretically plausibilise our assumptions on the connection between heroisation and politics, a more positivist approach may investigate this connection in more detail. One potential path here may be the application of survey experiments⁹ in which a first group of participants are given news reports which include elements of heroisation, while a second group is given non-heroic reports in order to see whether there is any variation on the question of support for one side and the acceptance of misbehaviour by that side.¹⁰ Second, one may consider a more intersectional feminist turn and focus on the creation of other types of hierarchies, such as gendered (beyond the gender binary) and ableist in situations of war and the role of heroisation in such hierarchies. Briefly put, there is no precedent for a member of the LGBTQ+ community that has been widely acknowledged as a hero in the context of war, and as for people with health conditions or impairments, they are usually considered as individuals who need to be saved. A third potential path for future research is a more linguistic turn, which involves the consideration of alternative genres in the depiction of the hero beyond romance, such as tragedy, comedy or satire. Here, the focus could be on how stories of war as tragedy, comedy or satire influence the perceptions of the ‘hero’ and how this, in the case of tragedy, makes defeat in war inevitable or, in the case of comedy and satire, how laughter in war becomes possible.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank the organisers and participants of the workshop on foreign policy narratives at the European Workshops for International Studies (EWIS), Amsterdam, 12–14 July 2023 for their help and their valuable feedback.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Gabriela Pancheva

Alexander Spencer

Notes

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‘Russian warship,go fuck yourself’: Romantic narratives of the hero in the war of Ukraine

Abstract

Keywords

The ‘hero’ in heroism studies and IR

Narrative analysis

Snake Island and the romantic hero in Ukraine

Setting

Characterisation

Emplotment

Possible consequences of the romantic hero

Support for war and the silencing of misbehaviour

Exceptionalisation and the creation of hierarchies

Conclusion

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Funding

ORCID iD

Notes

References