It was a stirring and bold announcement by Martin May, director of the Cardiff Philharmonic.

The Cardiff Philharmonic Orchestra has removed Tchaikovsky from its programme of its upcoming concert ‘in light of the recent Russian invasion’.

Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture was due to be included in the orchestra’s upcoming all-Tchaikovsky concert at St David’s Hall on 18 March, but it was considered by the orchestra ‘to be inappropriate at this time’.

What does Tchaikovsky have to do with anything? What difference does that make, as the New York Times explains that “Putin’s Getting Sanctioned, but Russia’s Getting Canceled.”

In Russia, Disney and Warner Bros. have paused theatrical releases, and McDonald’s, Starbucks and Coca-Cola have suspended their business operations. In the United States,  liquor stores and supermarkets have pulled Russian vodka from their shelves, and the Metropolitan Opera cut ties with one of its most acclaimed sopranos after she criticized the war but refused to distance herself from Putin. And in the international arena, Eurovision, FIFA and the Paralympic Games have banned Russians from participating in this year’s competitions.

Some of these choices make sense, at least to the extent that they involve participation in Russia’s economy, and therefore its isolation from enjoying global economic benefits, even as the European Union continues to buy millions of dollars of energy per day. At the same time, pulling Stoly, already in the storage room in the back, off shelves touches no one and nothing in Russia, any more than canceling a concert by a long dead composer.

Are these informal sanctions of Russian culture and business justified, and can they alter the course of the war? Or are these histrionic gestures that risk stigmatizing an entire population for the crimes of one autocrat? And what does the invocation of “cancel culture” — as both a rhetorical cliché and a material phenomenon — reveal about the way the war is being metabolized through social media?

The invocation of “cancel culture,” which has now achieved meaningless cliché status, reflects not only the pathetic intersection of mindless passion and social media jargon, but the simplistic approach to very real problems that has become ubiquitous among those who care too much and think too little.

So far, the cultural backlash doesn’t seem to have done much to get Putin to change course — and may even be playing into his preferred narrative of Russia being victimized by the West.

Yet the longer the country’s cultural isolation persists, “the more chance such measures have of breaking through the state’s narrative,” Yasmeen Serhan writes for The Atlantic. “If ordinary Russians can no longer enjoy many of the activities they love, including things as quotidian as watching their soccer teams play in international matches, seeing the latest films, and enjoying live concerts, their tolerance for their government’s isolationist policies will diminish.”

On the one hand, this theoretical approach to what may turn the Russian people against Putin may have its desired impact, even if it hasn’t happened yet. It hasn’t been very long, and the Russian propaganda machine has served its purpose well, convincing many Russians that Putin is the good guy here, and doing nothing more than saving their comrades in the Ukraine from Nazis. Are they not willing to suffer missed soccer games to defeat the Nazis? On the other hand, there isn’t much downside to isolating athletes and sports teams representing Russia.

But what about the damage being done to people who don’t “represent” Russia?

A potential rise in anti-Russian bigotry is another concern. Already in the West, The Washington Post reports, people of Russian descent or association are reporting a rise in discriminatory attacks, comments and refusals of service from local businesses. In New York City, some Russian restaurants have seen a decline in customers.

Wags on social media argue that we can distinguish Russia, the global pariah nation, from Russians, the people who had nothing to say in the matter, from people of Russian ethnicity, the people who left Russia and came to America to make a new life. These are people who should be applauded, embraced, as the ones who rejected life under a totalitarian regime in favor of democracy and capitalism. This is what one would hope Russians would do, so do they get the appreciation they deserve? Of course not.

As usual, the wags live in a fantasy world of their own rhetorical making. Their fine distinctions don’t play out that way on the street. Russian restaurants have been vandalized. Russian churches too.

This is hardly the first time foolishness has appeared in reaction to crisis. Remember when France caved in after the name was changed to “Freedom Fries,” or the terminally stupid attacked Sikhs because they looked kinda like Muslim terrorists to people who had no grasp of what Muslims looked like or the basic wrongfulness of attacking random people without reason? Passionate people are passionate, which is the alternative to thoughtful and reasonable.

As people and institutions watch the war get spun into content in real time, they react to it as social media has trained them to: through arguably superficial displays of solidarity, entreaties to practice self-care, the reflexive lionization of political figures, Twitter clapbacks (in one case, between the Russian and German Embassies in South Africa), and a desperate desire to be — or at least appear — useful.

Granted, people want to do something when they feel that “desperate desire to be — or at least appear — useful.” Being useful is great, although how to do so remains a mystery to most people. But “appearing” useful is what social media is built for, signalling to the world, or at least that tiny echo chamber people occupy, that they’re on the side of good and against evil has become a sufficient substitute for actually being useful.

So the Cardiff Philharmonic has canceled Tchaikovsky, a performative display of non-performity that accomplishes nothing except to play the heartstrings of the unduly passionate. If that doesn’t stop Putin, nothing will.