On the evening of June 29, 1974, after a Bolshoi Ballet tour in downtown Toronto, Mikhail Barishnikov ran out the stage door through the crowd.
Then 26 years old and already one of ballet's brightest stars, Barishnikov had made the momentous decision to defect from the Soviet Union and pursue a career in the West. On that rainy night, he had to rush to meet a group of Canadian and American friends waiting in a car a few blocks away, dodging KGB agents and autograph-seekers.
“That car took me into a free world,” Mr. Barishnikov, 76, recalled in a recent interview. “It was the beginning of a new life.”
His secret escape made him a cultural celebrity: “Soviet Dancer in Canada Flees Bolshoi Performance,” The New York Times headlined on its front page.
But the attention given to his decision to leave the Soviet Union sometimes makes Barishnikov uneasy, and he said he does not like the word “defector” because it conjures up images of a traitor committing high treason.
“I'm not an exile. I'm a chooser,” he said. “It's my choice. I chose this life.”
Born in Riga, Latvia, during the Soviet occupation, Barishnikov moved to Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) in 1964 at the age of 16 to study under renowned teacher Alexander Pushkin. At 19, he joined the Kirov Ballet (now the Mariinsky Ballet) and quickly became a star in the Russian ballet world.
After his defection, he moved to New York and joined the American Ballet Theatre (where he later ran as artistic director), and then the New York City Ballet. As the preeminent male dancer of the 1970s and 1980s, his star power helped propel ballet into popular culture. He also worked as an actor, appearing in plays and films, including “Turning Point” and the TV series “Sex and the City.” And in 2005, he founded the Barishnikov Arts Center in Manhattan, which offers dance, music and other programs.
Mr. Barishnikov, a dual-American and Latvian citizen, has become more politically outspoken in recent years. He has criticized former President Donald J. Trump, likening him to the “dangerous totalitarian opportunist” of his youth. He also opposed Russia's invasion of Ukraine and accused Russian President Vladimir V. Putin of creating a “world of fear.” He is also the founder of True Russia, a foundation that supports Ukrainian refugees.
In the interview, Barishnikov reflected on the 50th anniversary of his defection, the father he left behind in the USSR (his mother died when Barishnikov was 12), the pain of the Ukrainian war, and the challenges facing Russian artists today. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.
What are your memories of that June day in Toronto?
I remember feeling a sense of relief seeing all those friendly faces in the getaway car, but also feeling terrified that things could change. Terror that at any moment it could all fall apart and we'd end up like in a bad cop movie. I was starting a new life, a life that was completely unknown. It was my decision, my responsibility. It was time for me to become an adult.
you have Explained You said that your defection was artistic, not political – that you wanted more creative freedom and the opportunity to work abroad more often, but the Soviet authorities did not allow it.
Of course, it was a political decision, seen from afar. But I really wanted to be an artist and my main interest was dance. I was 26 years old – middle age for a classical dancer. I wanted to learn from Western choreographers. Time was running out.
at that time you said“What I did is a crime in Russia, but I realized that my life is my art and to destroy it is an even bigger crime.”
Did I say it that well? I can't believe it. Maybe someone corrected it to have better grammar. But I still agree. I realized early on that I was a talented dancer. That's what I could do, and that's it.
You feared that defection would put your father, a soldier in Riga and a teacher of military topography at the Air Force School, in danger.
I knew that the KGB agents would question him, ask him if he was involved, if he would write me a letter or something. He didn't do anything. I have to say, “Thank you, Dad. Thank you for not giving in.” He refused to send me a letter and asked me to come back.
Did you ever get in touch with him again?
I sent him a couple of letters and said, “Don't worry, I'm fine. I hope everyone at home is healthy.” He didn't reply. And he passed away not long after that, in 1980.
You started studying dance at the age of 7 and a few years later you enrolled at the Riga Choreographic School, the National Ballet Academy. What did your parents think of your dancing?
My parents were amused that I went to a technical school at 10 or 11, but my father always said, “You have to go to a proper school, study math and literature, and get good grades.” I was a really bad student. My father said, “If you can't do well in a proper school, I'll send you to a military school like Suvorov and I'll fix you there.” Of course, it was a bluff. I was already deeply, deeply into theater. I was obsessed with the atmosphere, the feeling that I was part of this big, beautiful circus.
When you came to the West, did you feel like you had to forge a new identity?
I felt an immense freedom. When you have no authority, you start thinking strange things about yourself: “Oh, I'm like Tarzan in the jungle now.” But that was enough. I told myself: “I have to grow up now, I have to do something serious.” I knew I could dance, and I already had some repertoire.
Are you still dancing?
Dance may be a fancy word, but sometimes stage managers ask, “Is it OK if we move?” and I answer, “Of course.” It's welcome. But I don't miss being on stage in a dancer's costume.
You've avoided politics for most of your career, but recently Weighed On a range of issues, including the war in Ukraine. Why speak out now?
Ukraine is a different story. Ukraine is our friend. I danced Ukrainian dance, listened to Ukrainian music and singers. I know Ukrainian ballets, like “Song of the Forest,” and I performed them in Kiev. I am a pacifist and an anti-fascist, that's for sure. That's why I'm on this side of the war.
You were born eight years after Latvia was forcibly annexed by the Soviet Union, and your father was one of the Russian workers sent to Latvia as a teacher. How does your experience growing up there influence your perspective on the war?
I spent the first 16 years of my life in Soviet Latvia and I know the other side of it, I was the son of an occupier, I know the experience of living under occupation, the Russians treated Latvia like their territory, their land, they said the Latvian language is trash.
I don't want Putin and his troops in Riga. Latvia is finally truly independent and is doing pretty well. My mother is buried there. When I come to Riga, I feel like I'm coming home.
you Open Letter In 2022, he told Putin that he had created a “world of fear.”
He is a real imperialist with a completely strange sense of power. It is true that he speaks the same language as my mother, but he does not represent the real Russia.
How have you changed since you left the USSR 50 years ago?
I am a very lucky person. I don't know. I want to write nice sentences. But now is not the time to write nice sentences when someone like Alexei Navalny is sent to prison and ruined for living an honest life.
Would you ever return to Russia?
No, I don't think so.
Why not?
The thought never occurs to me. I have no answer.
I think of you sometimes Thinking and dreaming About the time I spent there.
Of course. I speak Russian sometimes and I read a lot of Russian literature. Russian is my mother's language. She was a very simple woman from Kstovo, near the Volga. I learned Russian from her. I remember her voice, the music of the Volga, her mother's sound, her mother's “o”, her vowels.
Among Russian artists such as the stars of the Bolshoi Ballet Olga SmirnovaNow a member of the Dutch National Ballet, he left Russia because of the war.
I saw her dance in New York and met her after the show. She is a fantastic dancer, a lovely woman and very, very brave. It is a big change to go to Holland after being the principal soloist of the Bolshoi. But she is in good shape and showed great pride in performing with the company that recruited her. I am rooting for her.
Are you surprised to see artists leaving Russia again due to politics and fears of repression?
In Russian, we have a word for refugees or people who are fleeing. It's “bezhentsi.” This applies to people who are fleeing from bullets and bombs in this war. Some Russians run more gracefully than others – dancers, athletes. I try to support them, in my smallest way. After all, we're all fleeing from someone.