DIARY OF A RUSSIAN-SPEAKING UKRAINIAN

LIVING BETWEEN WORLDS

Diary of a Russian-Speaking Ukrainian in Wartime

1. "I Am Home, But Not Welcome"

I was born in Kharkiv. My parents spoke Russian, as did their parents before them. It was never a statement, just a language, our language. But today, even my words are suspect. When I speak Russian in the market, the stares are sharp. I’ve stopped answering my phone in public.

They say I'm "not Ukrainian enough." Yet I pay taxes, shelter neighbours, mourn the dead, and dream of peace. What more do they want?

2. "This Land Was Always Layered"

One-third of this country speaks Russian. That’s not because we invaded, it’s because of history. Eastern Ukraine - what Catherine the Great called Novorossiya - was settled, built, and cultivated by Russians and Russified Slavs under the Tsars.

The west - which is Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk - was once part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and later Austria-Hungary. They look to Rome, to Vienna. The centre - Kyiv, Dnipro - is a mix, always balancing.

We are not one nation in the romantic sense. We are a layered civilisation. Yet today's government demands we be one language, one history, one faith.

3. "The Law Has a Sharp Edge"

I used to teach literature... in Russian. Now, by law, I must switch to Ukrainian. I don’t mind the language itself. What I mind is the erasure.

Russian books are being removed from libraries. Plays cancelled. Street names changed overnight. They say it's "decolonisation". I say it's a war on memory.

My daughter’s school no longer offers Russian as a subject. She speaks it at home, but she’s learning to be ashamed of it.

4. "Everyone Is Afraid of Being Labelled"

If I criticise Zelensky’s war policies, they say I support Russia. If I speak Russian, I’m called a "Muscovite." I oppose the invasion, but I also oppose the burning of everything Russian in this land.

There is no room for nuance. It’s either Bandera or Putin. I choose neither.

5. "Meaning in the Ashes"

I still read Pushkin. I still cook from my grandmother’s Tatar recipe book. I still light candles in a Russian Orthodox church, though it may soon be banned. These are not betrayals. These are my inheritance.

I am a Ukrainian citizen. I love this land. But I cannot amputate my past to prove it, it is part of who I am.

So I live quietly. I teach my daughter both languages. I speak Ukrainian in public, Russian at home. I tell her: you are both, and you are not wrong.

6. Final Reflection

Living in Ukraine as a Russian-speaker today is not war, rather, it is exile without actually leaving. You are present but you are mistrusted. You are asked to forget, to self-edit, to shrink.

But we do not shrink. We remember. And memory, in this strange civil war of identities, is resistance enough.

1. Introduction: Ukrainian Citizen, Russian Heritage

To live in Ukraine as a Russian-speaking citizen under Zelensky’s government is to face a deep identity crisis. You are part of the nation—but your language, culture, and even your lineage are treated with suspicion, regulated, or actively suppressed.

This is not a post about war crimes or frontline politics—it’s about daily life, personal meaning, and navigating a society where your voice is tacitly...or openly... marginalised.

2. Legal Framework: Language and Identity

Ukraine’s 2019 language law made Ukrainian the required language for government, media, education, public services and even signage .

Print media must have a Ukrainian equivalent, and half of newsstands must stock Ukrainian-print items .

Russian-language education at all levels is heavily restricted; only EU languages were allowed apart from Ukrainian .

These laws aim to consolidate national cohesion, but critics see them as discriminatory—especially toward Russian-speakers (who are around a third of the population) .

3. Daily Life Impact: Alienation or Resistance

Bureaucracy and public services: You must use Ukrainian to fill forms, interact with civil servants, or access healthcare—languages you may not be fluent in.

Education: If you have children, their schooling is in Ukrainian. Studying in Russian is almost impossible now.

Culture & community: In Kyiv and other cities, public events in Russian are rare. Russian books, plays, and music face bans .

Social stigma: Speaking Russian in public spaces may draw sideways glances, suspicion, or even hostility, especially amid wartime tension.

4. Emotional Landscape: From Pride to Exclusion

You may oscillate between:

- Pride in Ukraine’s struggle for sovereignty.

- Anger or sorrow at losing your mother tongue’s public presence.

- Fear of being labelled "pro-Russian" or “Nazi sympathiser”, no matter your actual views.

- Isolation: You look for meaning in family, faith, or art rather than national identity.

5. Attitude: Paths for Identity Navigation

A. Quiet Resilience

You live “in two tongues”: speak Russian at home, Ukrainian in public.

You preserve your culture privately such as music, literature, traditions.

You avoid politics, focusing on daily life.

B. Cultural Resistance

You support or volunteer in communities keeping Russian heritage alive.

You push for local bilingual schooling or media.

You seek alliances with other minority-language groups.

C. Emigration or Withdrawal

You leave Ukraine for Russia, Europe, or elsewhere to freely speak your language.

Or, you mentally detach... stay physically, but emotionally retreat.

6. Glossary

Derussification: Removing Russian influence—language, monuments, place names—across Ukraine .

Marginalisation: Being pushed to the fringes—socially, culturally, legally—because of language or heritage.

Quiet resistance: Small acts of preserving identity under pressure.

7. Final Reflection: Living Between Worlds

As a Russian-speaking Ukrainian, your existence itself is political. You carry multiple loyalties. Every word you speak is a statement. In wartime Ukraine, your identity is not just personal; it is scrutinised. Yet your life continues—not out of ideological purity, but because you seek meaning amid exclusion: in home, language, art, and hope that identity can coexist with sovereignty.