Russian classical musicians and ballet dancers are beginning to return to Western stages. Ever since their country’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine more than three years ago, Russian classical musicians and ballet dancers have seen their invitations to Western stages dry up (or even be withdrawn) if they didn’t belong to the small cohort who had condemned the invasion. It felt like the right thing to do, a small act that Western cultural institutions could undertake in support of Ukraine. But now they’re reversing their position. And the boycott raises a wider question: when should performing artists be expected to denounce the actions of their home governments?

Anna Netrebko is one of the world’s most celebrated sopranos, and with good reason: as Violeta in La traviata, Mimi in La Bohème, Floria Tosca in Tosca and a host of other opera roles, she combines artistry and vocal supremacy in a way few other sopranos are capable of. Until Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, nobody paid much attention to the prima donna’s political opinions. Like many other Russians, she appears to hold largely pro-Putin views; in 2014, she made a donation to a theatre in Donetsk – the Ukrainian city held by pro-Russian rebels – and was photographed holding a rebel flag. But the way opera bosses saw it, that didn’t disqualify her from singing in La traviata or Tosca.

Then came the invasion. A long list of prominent and lesser-known Russian musicians, including the celebrated pianist Yevgeny Kissin, condemned it. ‘Putin’s insidious attack on Ukraine, which violates international law, is a knife in the back of the entire peaceful world. It is also an attack on the arts, which, as we know, unite across all borders,’ wrote Kirill Petrenko, the Berlin Philharmonic’s universally respected music director. Netrebko failed to condemn it, only issuing tepid criticism of the war a few days after the invasion and adding that ‘forcing artists, or any public figure, to voice their political opinions in public and to denounce their homeland is not right’.

Soon, concert halls and opera houses across Europe and North America, the Metropolitan Opera in New York among them, cancelled performances by Netrebko. They also cancelled performances by several other Russian musicians, including the celebrated conductor and outspoken Putin supporter, Valery Gergiev, though he has now, amid considerable opposition, been invited to the Un’Estate da RE festival in Campania. Though cultural institutions clearly couldn’t stop the war, they felt they could at least show solidarity with Ukraine.

Now, though, Russian artists are beginning to reappear on Western stages. In addition to the controversy over Gergiev, this summer and autumn, Netrebko will perform at the Vienna State Opera, at the Royal Opera House in London, Berlin, in Naples, in Zurich, in Paris. Perhaps the cultural institutions have concluded their boycott made no difference, or perhaps Netrebko is such a box-office draw that shutting her out any longer would seem financially unwise. Either way, it certainly feels unfair that artists who failed to do the right thing should once again have the same opportunities as those who once showed decency and courage.

During the Third Reich, the celebrated German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler failed to denounce the Nazi regime, insisting that he was simply an artist. After the war, he became persona non grata in concert halls around the world. By contrast, the younger Herbert von Karajan, who had joined the Nazi party not once but twice (in his home country of Austria and then again in Germany), enjoyed an extraordinary career after the war. His luck was that he’d been slightly too young to be seen as publicly representing Nazi Germany.

The Venezuelan star conductor Gustavo Dudamel, who owes his musical upbringing to Venezuela’s El Sistema musical-education system, kept returning to conduct El Sistema orchestras even after his career took a stratospheric turn – and even after Hugo Chavez and Nicolás Maduro took the country in an autocratic direction. Only in 2017, after much criticism from human-rights groups, and after the government had once again violently dispersed pro-democracy protests, did he publicly criticise the regime.

One can think of several other countries that have taken an authoritarian turn in recent years. Should musicians from those countries also be expected to condemn their governments if they want to perform abroad? And what actions qualify as egregious enough that artists ought to condemn them? Invasions of peaceful neighbours, certainly, but what about power grabs, violations of court orders and use of government power to penalise critics? And if classical musicians are expected to criticise their home governments, what about celebrities or athletes?

Ultimately, those of us fortunate enough to live in countries that enjoy freedom and democracy would do well to examine our conscience. Would we have the courage to denounce our governments if they, too, took an authoritarian turn? Just like our friends in autocracies, most of us would likely declare, as Hendrik Höfgen does in Klaus Mann’s novel Mephisto: ‘But I’m just an actor!’