I’ve heard Verdi’s Requiem performed by Ukrainians twice. Once in Lviv, on Maundy Thursday last year, and once last month beneath the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral in London. At St Paul’s, the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra and the Philharmonia Chorus unleashed the Dies irae—the “day of anger”—like an operatic storm. The sound swelled through Wren’s vast spaces with such force that the music felt like thunder echoing between mountain peaks.
In Lviv, performed by a Ukrainian chorus and orchestra, the evening opened with a call to remember the war dead. Their graves lie just a mile up the road: 153 when I first visited in autumn 2022, but over 1,000 by this year. Row after row of soldiers who died in their 20s, 30s, and 40s, each grave decorated with flowers and plants, flags flying overhead. That time, the Dies irae—in the more restrained acoustics of the Lviv Philharmonic Hall—seemed to hold the raw ache of grief. I’ve certainly never heard a more furious day of anger.
I’ve thought a lot about Ukrainian rage. It was aimed at Russia and Russians, and it burned with a fury that was sometimes hard to get close to. Ukrainians themselves have occasionally been surprised by how deep their anger runs. Oleksandr Mykhed, an author now serving in the armed forces, wrote a wartime alphabet book for children in which L stands for lyut, meaning rage. He describes it as “a special mix of feelings where the urge to defend what’s yours, hatred for the enemy, and lasting love for your own people blend in equal measure.” This intense, complicated cocktail of emotions isn’t something you feel in peacetime, and it isn’t easy to carry.
I found myself making sense of it through literature, especially Homer’s epics. Epics need fuel to drive their poetic journey, and they need delay to stretch into long poems rather than short ones. In the Odyssey, the fuel is desire—the longing to return home—and the delay comes from divine hostility that throws obstacle after obstacle in Odysseus’s path. But in the Iliad, set during the Trojan War, Achilles’ rage fuels the poem: first his fury as a soldier insulted by his commander, then the consuming grief of a man who has lost his closest friend in battle. Grief and rage are close relatives; that’s something I’ve seen clearly in Ukraine.
It would be wrong to say Ukrainian rage is exactly like Achilles’. His crosses into the superhuman, mythic emotional realm of the gods’ children. But I kept thinking about the sheer scale of that Homeric rage when I saw Ukrainians’ fury over civilians killed, cities bombed, people raped and tortured. The poet Iryna Shuvalova, in an interview with writer Kateryna Iakovlenko for Suspilne, Ukraine’s national broadcaster, said rage was “pouring out of us as a reaction to the incredible trauma, the blow, the provocation, the terrible losses.”
Shuvalova’s poem February—about the month of the full-scale invasion in 2022—starts gently and wryly, noting that “we planned to get through February / like any other month— / only shorter.” But then the invasion begins, and “instead, the river roars and grabs us by the legs / this red slippery foaming / February-fury.” The translators, Amelia Glaser and Yuliya Ilchuk, chose “February-fury” to echo the sound link in Ukrainian between lyutyy (February) and lyuta (raging). For me, the immediate parallel to Shuvalova’s blood-soaked river is Homer’s Scamander, choked with blood and the bodies of the war dead.
And what powers the “day of anger” in Verdi’s Requiem? The words, rarely used in requiem masses anymore, come from a medieval hymn.A medieval Latin poem evokes the chaos and terror of the Earth’s final destruction. The raw, gut-wrenching intensity I heard in those Ukrainian performances reminded me of Homeric wrath, though this rage carries a different weight. The anger in the Dies irae is a kind of world-fury, born when everything is thrown into disorder by human actions—perhaps a world locked in war.
I’m not a Christian, and the values of Homer’s Iliad feel foreign to me. But I think there are different kinds of rage. Some are trivial and petty, like the everyday frustration and aggression we all feel. Yet Mykhed spoke of a generative rage—one that sparks action and fuels resistance. His rage gave him the drive and energy to write his book, The Language of War. He told me he wanted his furious account of the first year of the full-scale invasion to serve as “a time capsule for myself so that I know where I’ve been, when in five years or 10 years, my rage won’t be so sharp.”
He described this feeling as “not hatred, it is rage, because hatred doesn’t give you power, it’s more chaotic. But rage gives you words.” In 1981, Audre Lorde wrote urgently about the fury ignited by racism—a fury that could alienate and provoke resentment from white people. Black women, she noted, “tremble their rage under harness.” But when channeled into action and words, anger “is loaded with information and energy.” That’s been true for Ukrainians: rage turned into action has fueled their resistance.
Now, in 2026, Ukrainian rage burns low, at least among my friends. The fire can’t be sustained; it would consume you in its overwhelming heat. What’s left? Fatigue, emptiness, and a sharp awareness that no matter how bad things are now, they could get worse. “I feel like anything is possible—nuclear war, anything,” Iakovlenko told me. “Everything that was written in books and in films is actually happening to us.”
Sasha Dovzhyk, director of Index, Ukraine’s Institute for Documentation and Exchange, said she felt “pure spite and grit and grim determination and a memory of what it felt like to have feelings and a loyalty to that past version of the self who felt rage.” She missed rage, she admitted. Rage and grief gave her the strength to write her upcoming book, Apocalypse Baroque: Tales from Ukraine at War, which blends documentary and fairytales with fierce energy. Maybe rage sometimes edges too close to the dangerous realm of myth, to the destructiveness of an Achilles. But if you can tame that wild horse, it can carry you—for a while.
Charlotte Higgins is the Guardian’s chief culture writer and author of Ukrainian Lessons: Art in a Time of War, published by Jonathan Cape. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com.
On Wednesday 30 September, join Charlotte Higgins and a panel of acclaimed Ukrainian writers to explore the deep connections between war, art, and life. Featuring Olia Hercules, Sasha Dovzhyk, and Olesya Khromeychuk. Book tickets here.
Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs based on the articles themes written in a natural tone with clear simple answers
General Definition Questions
1 What is the main point of Charlotte Higgins article about anger
The article argues that anger is a vital informative emotion when it is a reaction to injustice or a threat to our values However it becomes destructive when it is unfocused selfrighteous or used to justify cruelty The war in Ukraine serves as a powerful example of both
2 How does the article define useful anger
Useful anger is a cleareyed principled response to a specific wrong Its the kind of anger that says This is not acceptable and it fuels courage solidarity and the will to resist It provides clarity about who is right and who is wrong
3 How does the article define harmful anger
Harmful anger is usually reactive unfocused or disproportionate to the situation It can turn into bitterness hatred or a desire for revenge that hurts the person feeling it as much as the target It often leads to actions that lower us to the level of our oppressors
4 Why is Ukraine used as the central example in the article
Ukraine provides a stark realworld case study The Ukrainian peoples anger at the invasion is seen as useful because its a righteous defense of their homeland and identity Its a clear example of anger as a motivating force for good
Benefits The Good Side of Anger
5 Can anger actually be a positive force
Yes The article suggests that anger can be a moral compass It can alert us to injustice give us the energy to fight for change and create a powerful sense of unity and shared purpose with others who feel the same way
6 How did anger help the Ukrainian people according to the article
It helped them mobilize defend their country and maintain morale in the face of overwhelming odds It transformed shock and fear into a determined collective resistance It also galvanized international support
7 What does the article mean when it says anger can bring clarity
In a crisis a strong sense of moral anger can simplify complex situations It cuts through confusion and doubt making it clear which side you are on and what you are fighting
