I: We tried to get some street interviews yesterday. We approached all kinds of people – young, old, men, women. Most of them turned us down. Why is that?
Maksym: Eighty percent of the population in Kharkiv right now are displaced people. See them over there with the bags? [Points to a group at a bus stop with a pile of bags] Those are all refugees. People who fled occupied territories and ruined homes – they’re scared of everything. It’s the truth, there’s so many of them. Socially, Kharkiv has changed. It used to be this cultural, industrial, elite hub, but now it’s more like a provincial border town. Right now, Kharkiv reminds me a lot of Luhansk back in 2014.
I: Why’s that?
Maksym: Businesses left, a lot of people left, the wealthy people moved out. The ones coming here now are the ones who could barely scramble away from the battlefield. So these people are scared of their own shadows, for one thing. And second – and this is just my personal take – it is Eastern Ukraine, after all, and people here still have a bit of that Soviet mindset. Not many people will admit it, but it’s there.
I: When we approached them in Ukrainian, they seemed more willing to talk, even if just for a few words. But in russian – it was an immediate “no.” Why? Even though it seems like plenty of people in Kharkiv still speak russian.
Maksym: Kharkiv is still russian-speaking even now. Most likely, it’s because there’s more trust in the Ukrainian language than in russian. You gave yourself the answer. They’re more open when they realize you’re coming at them with Ukrainian. By the way, I’m fifty-six years old now, and I’m a russian speaker. For forty-four years of my life, I barely knew a word of Ukrainian. I “learned” it in a Soviet school, a few words here and there, but… there’s this saying: “We went to sleep on February 23rd and woke up on the 24th.” [Note: the first part of the saying is in russian and the other one is in Ukrainian, showing that a lot of people switched to Ukrainian language after the invasion to show their belonging] Have you ever heard that? Since then, I’ve gotten pretty decent at Ukrainian.
I: That’s great!
Maksym: I won’t hide it – my wife and I still speak russian. She’s a russian speaker, originally from Russia. She never even studied Ukrainian in school. It’s hard for her; she understands, but she doesn’t speak it at all. For me, though, it’s no trouble to speak Ukrainian. Sure, my vocabulary might be a bit smaller, but I switch between the two easily. At the shop, or out in public, I make it a point to speak only Ukrainian. That’s my stance. That’s my way of fighting.
I: That’s a good stance to take.
Maksym: But lately, I’ve spent a lot of time in Lviv. Spent about six months there over the last two years. People kept asking where I was from. I’d say Luhansk, and they’d go, “You have such great Ukrainian, not like our Lviv dialect.” And I’d tell them, “Well, go ahead and learn it then.” What else can I say?
I: Yeah, Lviv has a pretty strange dialect.
Maksym: Everyone has one. Same in Luhansk. People used to think everything there was russian-speaking. It wasn’t. In Luhansk, the cities spoke russian, but ten kilometers out into the villages, and it was all Ukrainian. They still speak it there now. Even under the russians, they’re speaking Ukrainian.
I: Yeah, just like in Kursk.
Maksym: Just like Kursk. And the Belgorod region! Half of Belgorod speaks Ukrainian.
I: Well, the russians just call it a “dialect.”
Maksym: Hah, a dialect! Let ’em call it whatever they want. You know, I served in the Soviet army – served in the Astrakhan region, actually, in Kapustin Yar, right where that “Oreshnik” missile was launched from. My military specialty was Strategic Missile Forces. I served there and heard plenty of that russian language. Back home in Donbas, it was always the same: whenever we went to Russia, they’d call us “khokhols,” but in Ukraine, they’d look at us like we were russians.
I: Why was that?
Maksym: I don’t know. Because I’m from Donbas. Even now, if someone asks, “Where are you from?” – I say “Donbas.” I never hide it or pretend I’m from Kharkiv. Donbas is in my head. I’m from Donbas. If I say it in russian, since it’s hard to translate – “I’m from Donbas, where tough men speak in curses.” It’s a coal mining land; being a miner is a brutal job. My dad slaved away underground for thirty-seven years. I know what I’m talking about. People there are tough, gritty men. But that doesn’t mean they’re pro-russian. The war in Donbas is a whole different topic. Everyone’s got their own opinion on that. So, that’s the deal.
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