The Russian authorities, through Rosobrnadzor, are dismantling the Moscow School of Social and Economic Sciences (Shaninka). It’s unclear whether this unique institution will reopen its doors in September — and even if it does, what it will have left to offer its students. But this isn’t just about licenses or program accreditation. What’s disappearing is the very spirit and essence that made Shaninka what it was. T-invariant spoke with Marina Kalashnikova who spent many years teaching at Smolny College and served as dean of Shaninka’s Faculty of Liberal Arts and Sciences. Today, Kalashnikova and a group of colleagues (many of them also former Shaninka faculty) are building a private university: the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences in Montenegro. Was it difficult to explain this kind of program to Montenegrins? How did the university find its place in a resort country? And why did around 40 students choose it over other European universities offering English-language instruction?
No way back
T-invariant: You worked for a long time at Smolny College and Shaninka, pouring your heart and soul into them. What emotions do you experience now when you read the latest news about Shaninka?
Marina Kalashnikova: Deep sadness. I understood, of course, that things were heading this way. But to me, it would have been better to shut it all down than to mutilate it like this. The name remains, but the essence is gone. Unfortunately, there are people who fail to discern the changes, are unaware of their significance, and might be misled. This is an undeniable tragedy for those still studying there because they’re not getting what they came for. Nevertheless, there are heroic colleagues at Shaninka, Smolny College, and other meaningful institutions who, despite immense pressures, are still trying to preserve that human and academic spirit.
This is a tragedy for Russian education. Institutions like these take years to build and are hard to restore. But they’re easy to destroy. The curriculum is reworked under the pretext of aligning it with regulations. This dismantles the entire program. We know the people who did this, and we won’t forget, but it’s a disaster.
I understand that some colleagues have no choice but to stay and work there. I feel sorry for the students, especially the generation that never experienced the true Smolny College and only heard about it.
While preparing this interview, we learned that Shaninka may lose its accreditation. The publication Groza obtained a recording of a July 17 meeting involving the university’s rector, Maria Sigova. Over a few months, the university received two warnings. “The issuance of a second warnings means our accreditation could be suspended,” Rector Sigova says in the recording. Students were offered 30 days to transfer to other universities. The university administration promised to assist with transfers “in any way they can.” For students who choose to continue their education at Shaninka despite the lack of accreditation, diplomas will be issued. Should the license be suspended, Shaninka will be forced to transfer its entire student body—that is, all students in higher education programs—to other institutions.
T-i: Can we say that the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences in Montenegro is a new Shaninka?
MK: Some of our Shaninka colleagues do see this project as a continuation of what they did before. And that’s a good thing. But we also have colleagues from other institutions. I wouldn’t want to call our project a new Shaninka or a new Smolny College. We’re striving to preserve the best of Russian education but transplant it onto new soil, in new conditions. You can’t step into the same river twice. We’re a project with diverse roots, and the Shaninka root is a strong one.
T-i: Your university in Montenegro now has both a license and accreditation. How do you feel about this?
MK: That there’s no turning back. Each year, we have more students — and greater responsibility. We were prepared for this, of course; it took three years to get the license. But now it’s an irreversible process.
T-i: What challenges did you face in obtaining the license and accreditation?
MK: The first challenge was that the Liberal Arts & Sciences program didn’t exist in Montenegro. We had to present this program to the Montenegrin Council for Higher Education Qualifications and secure approval from the Ministry of Education. It was a lengthy bureaucratic process. Since our system was new to Montenegro, the process took a long time. Not because anyone was obstructing us — it just took time to explain what we were trying to achieve. You submit all the documents, and then you wait, wait, wait. You ask questions, and nobody responds.
You sometimes need to find indirect ways just to ask a question. There are people (and we have them) who help build local connections. To them, we’re somewhat unconventional. We had to carefully and consistently explain: what this model is, why it’s a valuable qualification, why it would benefit Montenegro, why we’re not aiming to create a Russian university, why classes will be taught in English but we’ll also learn Montenegrin (for at least a year), and why this matters to us. The first few years were spent in countless meetings with a wide range of people. Some officials responded slowly and probably weren’t thrilled — we added to their workload. The licensing process was quite exhausting: we submitted documents in October and only received the license at the end of May.
What surprised me? I wouldn’t say it was surprising, more amusing. Montenegrin education still carries a lot from the Yugoslav system. Like Russia until recently, they’re part of the Bologna Process. But, as in Russia, they often try to fit this system onto the old one without making fundamental changes.
T-i: So, you’re pioneers in two ways. You’re the first among the new wave of emigrants to establish an official private university abroad. And you’re also the first in the Balkans to create a university operating under the Liberal Arts & Sciences program.
MK: Yes, that’s true. There are colleagues who have created faculties within existing universities. Our colleagues in Limassol built an excellent mathematics project. There’s also an interesting project by Zhanna Nemtsova, launched before the war — the Boris Nemtsov Academic Center for Russian Studies at the Faculty of Arts, Charles University. We also considered integrating into an existing university. But then we remembered that in Russia, we already tried creating a Liberal Arts faculty within traditional universities, and it’s extremely difficult to implement. So, we chose to carve our own path.
T-INVARIANT FACT SHEET
Marina Kalashnikova was born in 1973. In 1990, she graduated from the Faculty of Russian Philology and Culture at the Herzen State Pedagogical University (RGPU) in St. Petersburg. That same year, she enrolled in a postgraduate program at the Institute of Russian Literature (Pushkin House) of the Russian Academy of Sciences. In 2000, she began studying at the European University at St. Petersburg in the Faculty of Ethnology. She holds a Candidate of Sciences degree in Philology (dissertation: “The Modern Album: History, Poetics, Functions”). From 2006 to 2018, she worked at the Faculty of Liberal Arts and Sciences at St. Petersburg State University (Smolny College of Liberal Arts and Sciences). She focused on integrating the Liberal Arts and Sciences educational model into the Russian higher education system. She was one of the developers of the third-generation Federal State Educational Standards for “Arts and Humanities.” In 2021, together with colleagues, she established the Faculty of Liberal Arts and Sciences at the Moscow School of Social and Economic Sciences (Shaninka). The faculty was closed by a prosecutorial decision in 2022.
T-i: Why Montenegro specifically? Why not, for example, Serbia?
MK: We had to rule out Serbia immediately because we work with individuals labeled as foreign agents (a Russian legal designation for entities deemed to act against national interests), and Serbia is known for its, shall we say, uncritical loyalty to Russian authorities. Additionally, Serbia has the University of Belgrade with its well-established academic traditions. First, Montenegro has a significant Russian diaspora, including many who are working on interesting educational projects. Migrants who left because of the war brought their children, who need education. Schools here are springing up rapidly. Moreover, Montenegro has long been a familiar place for Russians, including in terms of education. Second, higher education in Montenegro only emerged in the 1970s. In the vast former Yugoslavia, there were universities in Zagreb, Belgrade, and Sarajevo, but Montenegro was primarily a resort destination. It lacks a strong university tradition, which is still developing. In a sense, the market here is more flexible. The laws are not overly restrictive, and we don’t pose direct competition to existing universities, as there are no institutions of our kind in the region. We offer Montenegrin applicants the opportunity to pursue a Liberal Arts & Sciences education without leaving for the Netherlands or Bulgaria.
We haven’t seen significant interest from Montenegrin applicants yet, which is expected since we only recently obtained our license. Until recently, we were an unfamiliar entity, small and unclear. Now, people are starting to notice us.
T-i: Are many of your students children of recent emigrants?
MK: Our students are very diverse in terms of age and background. That’s how it was with Liberal Arts & Sciences in Russia as well. They’re not just recent high school graduates but also adults who, for various reasons, didn’t pursue higher education earlier. Some wanted to enroll in strong Russian universities with Liberal Arts & Sciences programs but found that after 2022, such institutions either no longer exist or exist in name only, lacking the essence they sought.
Yes, there’s a significant group — children of recent émigrés. In 2022, their parents took them away from the war. They hadn’t planned to study in Europe, hadn’t budgeted for it, and weren’t mentally prepared. As a result, they ended up in places like the Netherlands or Israel, feeling somewhat lost. Some lack the funds, others lack language proficiency, and some feel uncomfortable for various reasons, preventing them from enrolling in universities in the countries where they now reside.
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There are also those who started studying in Russia but dropped out for various reasons. Some didn’t plan to live in Europe but ended up here without a degree. They need at least a bachelor’s diploma.
T-i: There are plenty of universities in neighboring Europe that teach in English. What makes you stand out?
MK: For one, and this is significant, the cost of tuition. We also have an exceptional faculty. Honestly, if it weren’t for the war, we’d never have gathered in one institution in Russia. We’d be scattered — some at HSE (Higher School of Economics), some at the European University, some at Shaninka, some at Smolny College. Here, it was easier to bring everyone under one roof. Our faculty is arguably unparalleled — highly active, charismatic, and deeply motivated. Many European universities, where professors hold secure tenured positions, lack this. Our faculty, fueled by enthusiasm, invests deeply both emotionally and intellectually.
T-i: Who funds you?
MK: No one. It’s a startup. There are small private sponsors who, for example, are willing to buy furniture. We also have a significant grant from an organization deemed undesirable by the Russian government (banned from cooperation — T-i), which I won’t name. But it’s just to “keep us afloat” so we don’t starve. It doesn’t even cover rent.
T-INVARIANT FACT SHEET
Liberal Arts and Sciences is an educational model that emphasizes broad study across the humanities, social sciences, natural sciences, and arts. Its goal is to foster critical thinking, communication skills, and the ability to analyze information and draw conclusions. Within this model, students can design individualized academic paths and explore diverse disciplines, resulting in a personalized curriculum. The system gained prominence in the mid-20th century in U.S. universities and colleges. The first two years are unspecialized, allowing students to discover their true interests. After the second year, students choose a major, and after the third, a minor. The first faculty in Russia to adopt the Liberal Arts and Sciences model was the Faculty of Liberal Arts and Sciences at Smolny College. Today, no institutions in Russia operate under this model.
T-i: So, how do you plan to keep things running?
MK: Our education is tuition-based. We also have revenue-generating projects, like the “Beach University”, which provide funds to support faculty. Of course, this isn’t enough. We’ll soon need to tackle campus construction. We’ll be looking for investors.
University, Ideology, Education, and Patriotism
T-i: In an ideal world, how should the relationship between the state and a university be structured? How should they interact?
MK: Minimally. Of course, if the state funds a university, you can strive to be an independent academic community. Yet pressure from the state is likely to remain high. Even if the state doesn’t fund the university, its independence isn’t guaranteed. Look at what’s happening with universities in the U.S.
It might seem that private universities are independent initiatives, free from state control. It might seem that the state’s role is merely to occasionally check their quality, compliance with accreditation, and licensing standards. But in practice, things work differently. Many issues critical to universities involve the state: the alignment of graduates with the labor market, adapting to market changes, and so on. Student employment and career placement are concerns for any state. So, dialogue is necessary. For that, officials need to understand the university’s goals — not to side with the university, but to recognize the balance between state and university objectives. They must remember that a university is a free academic community and a public good — costly, but essential.
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Officials shouldn’t lose sight of the values of education, personal development, human rights, justice, the importance of intellectual work, and the accumulation of cultural resources. These are university tasks that the state simply cannot fulfill. At the same time, a university can’t retreat into an ivory tower and focus solely on scholarship. As appealing as that idea may seem, we live in the real world. As a university administrator, I need to understand what the state wants from us and why. Our main task is to find a balance that ensures students get the most out of their education.
T-i: What lessons can be drawn from the situation with American universities?
MK: It used to seem that the U.S. model of university-state relations was something to aspire to: the Department of Education doesn’t dictate terms. There’s the Association of American Colleges and Universities, a non-governmental organization that conducts its own accreditation, essentially validating your quality. When I worked at Smolny College, we went through accreditation twice with our partner, Bard College, so I understand firsthand how U.S. accreditation differs from Russia’s. There, the focus is truly on course content, not paperwork, spreadsheets, or bureaucratic clutter. Yet, it turns out this balance is fragile. You can’t help but think about the role of a person in history: someone comes along, starts disrupting the system, and you’re powerless to stop them.
The situation with American universities and our experience in Russia teach us to keep our distance from state power. We see what happens when the state views higher education as a tool for its own goals. For now, small institutions like ours can only observe the strategies of larger universities. In Russia, different universities have different survival strategies: some comply immediately, others try to navigate carefully. You can’t afford to relax in this world.
T-i: But states around the world try to influence education, including higher education.
MK: Higher education is not about ideology, patriotism, or uniformity of thought! A university is a place where a young person’s worldview and personality are shaped. If education becomes indoctrination, that stage of development will be undermined.
Professors have no ethical right to bring their ideological preferences into the university or impose their worldview instead of teaching critical thinking. The task of professors and the university is to provide the most comprehensive picture, to read diverse texts with students and discuss them. A professor should not use the classroom to sway students to their ideological side.
T-i: Is that even possible? How realistic is it for a humanities professor not to express their personal, including political, opinions?
MK: It’s not about whether a professor expresses their opinion or not. As a faculty dean or administrator, I don’t care about a professor’s political stance. What matters is that they discuss various perspectives with students. They can, of course, share what resonates with them and what doesn’t. But it’s crucial that students don’t leave feeling that the professor’s view is the only correct one. This is a challenging task, especially today when everything political is so polarized. It’s particularly tough for émigré professors who often hold rigid, polarized positions. It’s no surprise that this creates endless friction between those who left and those who stayed. To study something, you need to step back from the fray, observe, rise above, and see different angles. You need to understand the arguments of various sides, recognize their frameworks, discuss them, and identify the strengths and weaknesses in any perspective, including your own. This is just as intellectually demanding as designing a course.
T-i: Imagine tomorrow your students join a rally in support of Russia. Would you be able to respect that viewpoint? Or would such an action be unacceptable to you?
MK: I hope our students wouldn’t join such a rally. For me, such a meeting would be a sign that we’re professionally unfit — not ideologically, but academically. But to answer your question — of course, students can participate in any rallies they choose. Outside the classroom, they’re free to make their own choices. They’re independent individuals.
Education in Person
T-i: Are you doing anything to ensure students have engaging activities outside the classroom that bring them together?
MK: Some students face financial challenges and have to work while studying. But most students organize themselves wonderfully. There’s a theater group, and they put a lot of energy into it. Many volunteer, helping refugees. However, we must remember that not everyone needs extracurricular activities. We adhere to the idea of individualized development.
Over the past two or three years, we’ve seen that our students are under significant stress. Many left Russia unwillingly — it was their parents’ decision. These are young people with complex and highly individual psychological experiences. Some of our students need support from psychologists or therapists. Emigration is tough for us adults, but it’s even harder for them. They’re studying in the unfamiliar Liberal Arts & Sciences format in Montenegro, a country designated as “unfriendly” by the Russian government. For example, parents of applicants ask me whether their children will be able to use our diploma to pursue a master’s degree or find work in Russia.
T-i: And what do you tell them?
MK: I tell them: maybe, when the regime changes. But for now, their educational future is far more likely to be tied to Europe, America, or Asia — not Russia. For many, that’s a dealbreaker. And that’s a tough realization to come to terms with.
T-i: If someone who’s struggling with emigration — not your students — asked for your advice, what would you say? Should they build a life outside Russia or hope for a quick change in government?
MK: I can’t offer advice. My own situation is quite complicated, so I don’t advise anyone. It’s a question to resolve with a psychologist, therapist, family, or close circle. All I can say is: “Look, kid, we have this opportunity for you. Or that one. You can take it or not — it’s your choice. Until you’ve decided to join our world, we won’t push you because you haven’t made your choice yet. If you choose us, let’s go!” Parents often ask me for advice, but I don’t give it.
We have parents who stayed in Russia but sent their kids to study with us. The student keeps a low profile, doesn’t post on Facebook, and there are no photos of them anywhere — they try to stay under the radar. They still have to return and cross borders back and forth. That’s their choice. My colleagues and I try to approach each student individually. We have a small cohort, just 40 students, so we know each one well. Plus, our education is in-person, not online.
T-i: Is that a deliberate choice?
MK: We don’t like online education. It’s important for us to see students in person, to create their own atmosphere and space. They have a library where we try not to intrude unless necessary. They go there, with books, a couch, a table, tea — it’s a place where they can feel safe. Safety is a critical issue. When you’re supposed to read complex texts and grapple with why Plato wrote one way and Aristotle another, you shouldn’t be worrying about whether someone will knock on your door with a draft notice or if cameras have tracked you. Education requires safety, and we strive to provide it.
There are online projects, like the Free University. It’s a wonderful initiative: education for its own sake, without a diploma. People simply enjoy the intellectual thrill of learning something insightful. For some, the online format works, and that’s great. But I think many crave a contemporary version of Plato’s Academy, where the professor knows you inside and out.
T-i: Those who stayed in Russia often notice how émigrés change. Do you think the countries and societies where Russians have moved are changing under their influence?
MK: It’s definitely a two-way process. A lot depends on the émigrés, the specific country, their willingness to integrate into the new community, and the community’s readiness to accept them. Montenegro is a small country, with a population of 600,000. Even here, the large Russian-speaking diaspora elicits mixed reactions. On one hand, locals are used to Russians as tourists: they come, spend money, and leave. Now, people are staying and starting competitive businesses or projects that locals don’t undertake. There’s a risk of ghettoization, with businesses “for our own”: Russian bookstores, bars, schools, institutes, universities. Such businesses might spark interest for some and irritation for others. Much depends on how the diaspora behaves, how it positions itself, how open it is, and what it offers the local community.
Do You Need to Keep Up with TikTok?
T-i: How have students changed over the past 15-20 years? Are they completely different? Do they really need a different kind of education than the one we got?
MK: Honestly, I don’t know. It’s all individual. It might seem that they read less attentively. But we weren’t exactly diligent readers either. I reread the same books multiple times before teaching. The more complex the text, the more iterations it takes to understand it. This applies to both fiction and non-fiction.
As a professor, I feel a growing distance. I’m getting older, while students stay young. There used to be texts I could reference as examples, knowing students had read them. Now, they haven’t read or heard of them. They’ve read, heard, and seen different things — not better or worse, just different. We’re used to what worked some time ago, but often that no longer works. Time forces us to come up with new approaches. As a professor, your task is to find the most effective way to connect.
T-i: Does that mean a professor should closely follow TikTok and Reels?
MK: You know why I’m a fan of Liberal Arts & Sciences? First, students in this program choose not just the course but also the professor. They come to your course motivated, knowing they chose you. That doesn’t solve every problem, but it addresses many. Second, if you’re giving lectures they can find online, it’s pointless. The horror is that many do just that. You have to prepare anew for every class: find articles and books, read them, design assignments, and tweak them if interest wanes. You have to put your own development and research on hold. For me, as both an administrator and a professor, there’s much less time for scholarship. Thoughtful teaching demands tremendous effort.
T-i: Is a higher education diploma still important in today’s world, or is its value diminishing?
MK: We must admit that the era when a diploma was decisive is fading. This creates tensions. On the one hand, the labor market demands specific specialists. On the other hand, such specialists can now be trained outside universities. We need to understand that a modern university isn’t about diplomas or professions — it’s about personal growth. In a way, we’re returning to the idea of a craft guild, as universities were in their origins.
It may sound naive, but we want to reimagine the idea of a university. Make it about meaning, purpose, humanity, and understanding where we’re all headed. This is especially crucial in the social sciences and humanities. A university should focus on working with individuals, with specific people. Yes, it’s expensive, but it’s a new lease on life. People often say the Liberal Arts & Sciences program is inherently costly. Yes, it is. But it’s a way of life.
T-i: You’re not just training social scientists and humanists; your program includes mathematics, programming, and natural sciences. Why?
MK: From my 12 years at Smolny College and later at Shaninka, I’ve concluded that students shouldn’t be divided into “techies” and “humanists.” I’m categorically against specialized high school tracks. In fact, I think nothing could be worse. If a child excels at languages, it doesn’t mean they’re a humanist. Likewise, a child who solves math problems easily shouldn’t be labeled a techie. Sure, there are kids at the extremes, but they’re exceptions. That’s no reason to artificially push everyone toward either humanities or sciences. Specialized tracks force kids to split themselves. I believe Liberal Arts & Sciences harmonizes this. We never know what will spark or where.
In Liberal Arts & Sciences, many students encounter fields they barely knew existed. They simply hadn’t had the chance to discover their interest. For example, we introduced an anthropology course. It wasn’t planned, but it turned out students were intrigued.
Students often follow a professor’s charisma. That’s not the best way to choose a career, but imagine you’ve never been into computers, and then you get a great professor who explains things clearly, and you start succeeding. If not at university, when else should you explore? Sure, it’s cheaper to put everyone in one academic group for four years, teaching them the same thing. It saves money, resources, and staff. The state might benefit. But what about the individual student? Then we wonder why so many don’t work in their field of study. After such an education, they want nothing to do with it.
T-i: How significant are Russia’s ongoing losses of international collaborations, joint programs, and even universities?
MK: The fact that all this is disappearing from Russia is simply dreadful. You can’t compare your educational experience with others or evaluate yourself in a broader context. Reflection doesn’t kick in, and you can’t see yourself from the outside. That’s critical for education. If you’re stuck in your own bubble, isolated, you can’t assess what’s happening to you. Many things seem normal because you don’t know it can be different.
Isolated education quickly becomes indoctrination. It’s reduced to a single task, and all education is geared toward it. That inevitably leads to death. Different fields are affected at different rates, of course. In Soviet times, we saw that mathematicians and nuclear physicists weren’t hindered much. But we work with meaning. We need to read diverse books in different languages. What will students in a closed country read? Whatever their professors can smuggle in? Genuine science and quality education are impossible in an isolated world.
Look at how they’re cracking down on foreign agents. Many of them aren’t just smart — they’re excellent professors. They’re being stripped of the ability to teach in Russia. And, frankly, there’s no one to replace them.
T-i: Many would argue that Soviet education was not death — it was among the best in the world.
MK: Soviet education was varied. For example, teaching ancient disciplines was brilliantly organized, supported by expeditions. I can’t speak to the sciences, but I trust they knew how to handle those fields. But when it comes to anything related to society, things were far worse. Wherever ideology creeps in, science stops. This applies to political science, cultural studies, sociology, even modern literature. Of course, there were individual scholars and professors who tried to do something locally. But it’s clear what happens when you can’t attend international conferences or access reading materials. Take cognitive science: it grew entirely through international collaboration. It’s a cutting-edge field, shaped by experiments conducted by large labs in global partnerships.
T-i: What would you say to someone, like a new émigré, who wants to follow in your footsteps and start a private university? What would you warn against, and what would you advise them to consider?
MK: I’d warn against focusing solely on your compatriots. I understand that’s how we might look right now. But you can’t forget you’re in another country, and you need to create a university that contributes to that country and matters from its perspective. You can’t build an educational program aimed only at émigrés. You have to navigate between Scylla and Charybdis: on one hand, become a European university; on the other, leverage the interest in the Russian language. We see that interest exists. You must not lose the audience seeking quality Russian-language education while avoiding becoming a Russian ghetto.