Everything seems perfectly in keeping with the tone of the conversation.

Except that the person you’re talking to isn’t who they claim to be.

The video that has been circulating in recent hours shows a conversation between Henna Virkkunen, Vice-President of the European Commission, and a man who identifies himself as Petro Poroshenko, the former President of Ukraine. In reality, this is a hoax orchestrated by Vovan and Lexus, the Russian duo known for making video calls under false identities, who have previously been involved in similar incidents involving European institutional figures, including Giorgia Meloni in 2023.

The element of humour is clear. But that is not the point.

Because, beyond the staged nature of the interaction, the conversation that emerges is genuine in both content and tone. And it is precisely this that makes it relevant.

In the dialogue, the theme of the Biennale is addressed in no uncertain terms. Not merely as a cultural event, but as a space that can be influenced. There is explicit mention of the need to “apply pressure to ensure that certain decisions are reviewed” and of the possibility of taking action “including through funding”.

In another passage, the tone becomes even clearer, suggesting that participation is not a neutral matter, but something on which “we cannot afford to remain passive”.

It is not so much the individual sentences that make an impression, but the naturalness with which they are spoken.

What stands out isn’t the joke.

It’s the tone of the conversation.

And just how deeply sensitive the issue of the Russian Pavilion at the Biennale still is in Europe.

At the heart of this lies the Venice Biennale, one of the world’s leading cultural institutions, historically a space for representation, dialogue and openness. Yet, as the discussion unfolds, it becomes clear that decisions regarding participation are not driven solely by cultural considerations, but are shaped by political factors, international balances of power and concrete means of exerting pressure, such as the management of funding.

This is not about questioning the role of the Biennale, nor about simplifying the complexity of the decisions that concern it. Rather, it is about acknowledging the context in which these decisions are made.

In this sense, the issue is not so much that it is a joke, but rather that a conversation of this kind comes across as plausible, coherent, and perfectly in line with the dynamics that govern the system.

And it is precisely this plausibility that prompts a broader reflection.

How independent is culture in Europe today?

And to what extent will the Biennale be able to retain full decision-making autonomy, without others determining who can and cannot take part?

Is there still any real scope for cultural independence, beyond political and geopolitical dynamics?