Nataliia Vdovychenko: ‘Until the war ends, I won’t feel safe anywhere’
PhD candidate Nataliia Vdovychenko (27) moved to The Netherlands in 2017, as a 20-year-old student. Today the Ukrainian is researching war communication, while Russian missiles are being fired around her Kyiv family home.
Lees dit interview in het Nederlands.
Anyone scrolling casually past Nataliia Vdovychenko’s Instagram feed, might mistake her for a carefree twenty-something, strolling by the sea, a few years ago. But her recent Stories tell the real story, about bombs continuously being dropped on Ukraine, her native country.
The last photo she posted shows her holding a protest sign with the caption ‘You’re next’ written above a drawing of a bomb, drenched in a pool of blood. It is February 27, three days after the invasion of Russia, and Vdovychenko is participating in a protest march in The Hague. About 2,000 kilometres away, her parents are watching their daughter’s video at home in Kyiv.
Internationals in Tilburg
Chinese, German, Brazilian: internationals from all corners of the world have been moving to the Netherlands for a long time. Science crosses national borders and Dutch universities want to score well on the world academic stage. But a lot of internationals came this way: lecture halls and student houses are overcrowded and many courses are only taught in English.
Time for a turnaround, it now sounds. Politicians want fewer internationals and English at universities. Universities are making plans to reduce internationalization. There’s a lot of talk about internationals. But who are they actually? And how do they see their future? In this section, Univers talks to international students and employees of Tilburg University.
Now, more than two years later, the landscape of her youth has changed beyond recognition, says Vdovychenko, sipping a morning latte in a hotel bar around the corner of her Eindhoven apartment. ‘As a kid, every summer I would travel to Zaporizhzhia Oblast in the east, to stay at my grandparents. Those meadows where I spent my childhood holidays are now occupied territory.’
Your parents are probably glad that you are safe. But yet, you feel…
‘I feel powerless. It’s a mix of emotions – sadness, depression, anger. But I like to believe my research is helping. My PhD focuses on war communication in Ukraine. So next time war happens somewhere, we will know what to expect.
‘All day I read about developments on the frontline, I analyse media reporting. Yesterday night 29 missiles landed in Kyiv. My morning started with me messaging my family. I don’t have any rest from this topic. But I wouldn’t be able to do anything else at this moment.’
How do you approach your research?
‘I analyse information on social media, news mediums and websites, to see how peer-to-peer and state to people communication change during war. Platforms like Instagram get repurposed. People started to post military content, as they felt it was unethical to post selfies when there is a war is going on.
‘But let’s say suddenly there is a missile flying above us. Your first reaction is to film it and to post it online because this is an unusual event. People did that in the first weeks of war, because suddenly there were tanks in the streets and they tried to warn each other.
‘It had a big impact on people’s mental health, seeing those images and hearing those stories. Soon they realized that uncovering such information helps Russian troops to identify targets. The state launched a series of campaigns about digital media literacy in times of war.
‘You cannot post street names or missile footage, you can’t even message in group chats, saying: this is where missiles are now flying. Because you never know who will receive this information. It was like a process of self-censorship for people. You can’t post anything until the information is officially released. Everybody understands the danger.’
What is your focus when it comes to government war communication?
‘From the Ukrainian side, I’m going to study public diplomacy, and when it comes to the Russian side, I’m looking at war propaganda. Things like leadership narratives or over-optimism when it comes to frontline successes.
‘Patriotism. Nationalism. I notice that whenever Ukrainian news gets reported in major Russian outlets, the tone becomes sarcastic, instead of objective, as if the writer is taking pleasure in the attacks. It sets the mood for media consumers.’
In wartime, public diplomacy often has a political goal as well. How do you deal with that sensitivity as a scientist?
‘I mainly focus on user communication in Ukraine, because if I delve into the political communication in Ukraine at the moment, there is so much going on.
‘Also, whenever I write articles or talk at the conferences, I don’t evaluate, really. I don’t give my personal opinion about politics. I just say: this is the data I’ve collected. This is the conclusion of my work.
‘Many Europeans see this war as an isolated event. For Ukrainians this is a story of many generations’
‘When I moved to Netherlands, I was interested in researching disinformation and propaganda, especially coming from Russia, because I wanted to raise awareness. As soon as I started criticizing the right movements and the political regime in Russia, my professors warned me: maybe you want to publish under some pseudonym or use some fake identity.
‘Just in case, f or my own safety. It’s all very risky. So, when the full-scale invasion started, I became more cautious.’
With this in mind, how should we interpret the current war reporting in news media?
‘In my research, I compare what users are posting, or footage from the streets, to references that I trust. I try to be as close to the raw data as possible. My advice would be to do exactly that, and to try to reach the primary source, which is hard right now, with AI and fake news.
‘It’s best to try talking to real people who actually lived through something. Because not all media are completely neutral, right? We’re in the post-media phase, basically. These days, everything can be fabricated. But if you really want to know what’s happening in Ukraine, there are so many refugees here now, who can tell you what they have experienced. By an unlucky coincidence, I stayed in a Polish refugee hostel for a couple of days, in September 2023.’
How did that come about?
‘I was stopped at the Polish border, going out of Ukraine. For 14 hours they kept us outside of our bus in the middle of nowhere and then they dropped us off in Krakow. I was approached by volunteers who heard me speaking Ukrainian.
‘They told me how their family members died, how Russian tanks drove through their gardens and how Russian soldiers entered their homes. They had to drive through shootings and explosions because even in the green corridors they were attacked.’
You said you wanted to raise awareness.
‘A lot of Europeans see this war as an isolated event, that started in 2022. But for Ukrainians, it’s a story that spans many generations. For centuries we were basically a colony to Russia. Our language, traditions and customs were forbidden.
‘We had a war, we had a genocide, and in 1932 and 1933 we had a famine called Holodomor, where Soviet powers were stealing all the food and possessions of Ukrainian people. During that time, my grandmother was the youngest of five siblings. Soviet soldiers or pro-Soviet soldiers came to their home and demanded to take their food, the grain, the cow, everything.
‘Her father said, I have a family to feed. How do you expect me to do this? He was beaten up so badly that he died. Within one year, all the children of the family died from famine. Only my grandma survived. Everyone in Ukraine has a story like that.’
When did you become politically aware?
‘For my generation, our national identity was vital. In 2003 there was a revolution. The pro-Russian candidate rigged the elections and got elected. I remember as a kid going to the central square of Kyiv and seeing the protests. At the re-election, the pro-Western candidate won, but unfortunately, the pro-Russian candidate came back.
‘That’s why 10 years later, in 2013, when Ukraine had to sign the free trade agreement with the EU, he announced that, in fact, he wanted to cooperate more with Russia. And we, the students, protested again. The university pressured us not to join, but we couldn’t stay silent.
‘My whole thinking changed in just a few weeks. The idea that I lived in a safe society was gone forever’
‘Police forces hired by the pro-Russian president, began to attack the protesters and started shooting. I saw people covered in blood, unable to walk. They closed all public transportation. We had to hide in a church for six hours. As the mobile phone companies were owned by the oligarchs who supported the pro-Russian president, they shut down the internet.
‘We got a message on our phones, saying: ‘You are in a danger zone, go home’. I couldn’t call my parents. They saw what was happening on the news, but they could not reach me.
‘I remember that, just in a couple of weeks, my mind shifted completely. This notion of living in a well-protected society, was forever ruined. But what stuck with me as well, was seeing the mutual help and support between people who were resisting. Now as well, there is a lot of support from peer to peer. So for me, the war in Ukraine does not revolve around the government. It’s about people coming together and resisting.’
What is left of that movement today?
‘A lot of people from my generation live abroad now, and the ones who stayed are fighting. That’s why I say it’s an ongoing story. It is also one of the reasons why I study war communication.’
You came to the Netherlands at 20. What prompted your move?
‘When I was 15, I started studying Germanic linguistics at the National Linguistic University. Then the revolution started and Eastern regions were occupied by Russia. Everybody felt unsafe. Inflation was rising and the economy collapsed. The situation in Ukraine was really disturbing me. I remember talking to my parents, show maybe this was not a very safe environment to build our life in. But they told me not to worry, just study.
‘I graduated at 19. The Tilburg School of Humanities and Digital Sciences appealed to me, because it focuses on digital literacy. I always wanted to become a university professor, to make sure that future generations are critical about the information they consume.
‘I started with a second bachelor in digital media and online culture. Meanwhile I learned Dutch, I worked as a teaching assistant, and I joined SAM, the political student party. I wanted to give back and contribute to the Dutch society, because I was grateful to be here.’
What was your perception of Dutch people and of the Netherlands before you came here?
‘Whenever I met Dutch people abroad, they struck me as friendly, open and easy-going. But after coming here, they were all involved in their own lives and jobs.
‘Searching for housing in my first year, I encountered some discrimination. There were a lot of ‘Dutch-only’ ads. Often, I would not even get a response from the landlord. I remember suggesting to someone that I could speak Dutch in the household, if needed, but even that was rejected. In the end I started living with international people.’
Was it easy to make friends?
‘Actually, yeah. Some of my best friends are Dutch. With internationals, you can connect over struggles like missing your family and craving food from home, or over cultural differences. But internationals come and go. One minute you get attached to people, and the next this friend group dissolves completely. Dutch people are here to stay. I have Dutch friends that I have known for six years already.’
The infamous Dutch directness, is that common in Ukraine?
‘Certainly not.’ Vdovychenko smiles. ‘When I go back to Ukraine, I don’t understand subtle hints anymore. I ask people to be more straightforward, because I don’t know what they want from me, even when it comes to my own family!’
What other cultural differences did you find?
‘Some former classmates in Ukraine already have children. But here, young people are traveling and exploring the world. If they don’t like their study two years in, they will change to something else. That is not the life you would be living back in my home country. It is expected that after graduation, you immediately start working and building your career, your income, your future.
‘There is no time to waste. People don’t do a gap year or a sabbatical, they try to become independent as soon as possible. This is probably due to the economic situation, but I think it’s part of our culture as well.’
Did you experience any problems when you first moved here?
‘Well, before I left, the annexation of Crimea happened, and the war in the Eastern region started. It was a shock I could hardly process. Only after I came to the Netherlands, I slowly realized the full scale of tragedy happening in Ukraine.
‘That was a very sad period. The more I took distance, the more the reality of war was hitting me. Every time I would be here, life would seem pretty peaceful and nice. But then I would go back to Ukraine, where all the news was consumed with war, losses, injuries, deaths. It felt like a cognitive imbalance.
‘It wasn’t until the war broke out that people understood why I raised the alarm about Russian disinformation’
‘During COVID, I was researching disinformation spread by Russia. Back then people did not consider this to be a problem. I was searching for grants, NWO applications, and nobody seemed to understand why I would want to research something like Russian disinformation. Only after the full-scale war started in 2022, people came back to me and said, oh, now we see why you were so alarmed by this.’
Do you still notice that difference in political awareness today, when you meet Dutch people?
‘I think the education here is different. When I talk to friends in Ukraine, they say well, sooner or later, all of us will have to fight, to protect our community. But when the war started, a lot of people here came up to me and said they were surprised that Ukrainians are resisting.
‘‘Because we would just give up or flee.’ But what if all roads are blocked and you can’t leave? They said: ‘Well, we wouldn’t fight for the political leaders.’ But it’s not about the political leadership. It’s about your community. You either get killed or you fight. Then they said: ‘Why don’t you just stop fighting and give up the territories?’ Because it is not just about the territories, it’s about the people living there. It’s about resistance.’
There’s a lot of backlash against international students now, propelled by a political shift to the right. How does that affect you?
‘Well, it has definitely changed since I came here. In 2017 we still had some courses in Dutch. Then the program management made an effort to change everything to English. I worked for the marketing department of the university, and attracting more international students was a major goal before COVID.
‘Now seeing this goal changed 180 degrees is very odd to me. I’m just observing it carefully. At first, I was hesitant to apply for a Dutch passport, because it means I have to give up my Ukrainian nationality. But now, with the changes in Dutch politics, I’m considering applying for a permanent residence permit.
‘Lots of international people living here never thought about applying for Dutch citizenship. But after the national elections in the autumn of 2023, I noticed they started to consider it, because you never know how regulations will change. It is a serious concern.’
Do you have any suggestions for people who recently moved here?
‘Use every opportunity to spend time with your family. Because as a student, you are more able to do this, and it is so precious.’
How often have you been able to visit your parents since the war started?
‘I went there once in 2022 and once in 2023. Both trips were shocking to me. As soon as I crossed the border, I felt unsafe. It’s in the air. It took me around 36, 38 hours door to door. I remembered how my city used to be, and then I saw bomb craters everywhere.’
I imagine that you saw your parents in a totally different state of mind.
‘I could see the imprint of stress and fear on their faces. Whenever we ventured outside, they would be hyper aware of their surroundings. Last time I was in Kyiv, my parents woke me up in the middle of the night. We were hiding in the dark, listening to explosions all around us.
‘There is this rule that you have to shelter between two or three walls, in the bathroom or the corridor, because that way, you are relatively better protected during any attacks.’
Can you sleep at night?
‘I do have nightmares about the war, and it affects my perception of safety. Some of my life decisions are based on: would that be a safe country to live in? Would that be a safe job to have, for the decades to come?’
Do you feel safe in the Netherlands?
‘One would think so, but honestly, I think that until the war ends, I won’t feel safe anywhere. I’m actually afraid this feeling will last forever, even while I’m living here. Sometimes I worry about my future. I can’t go home whenever I want. And to be able to stay here, I need to be successful at my job, or I will risk losing my residence permit.
‘At the same time, my work feels a big mental load, because I constantly absorb information about the war, like human trafficking, sexual violence, war crimes and disinformation.’
There’s no escape.
‘Yes, that’s how I describe it to people, when they ask about my research. Lately I am wondering if maybe I should not speak so freely about my PhD topic anymore, because most new people I meet will immediately start asking about the war. Whenever people hear that I am from Ukraine, their face expression changes. They don’t know how to talk to me, they will pity me, or they will start asking about my family.
‘And then I am being pulled out of the casual context. Living abroad is not easy because you miss a lot in your family’s lives. Seeing my parents once a year under such stressful circumstances is heavy. It impacts my personal life, because I can’t really… enjoy life, knowing that my family is suffering over there.’
Do you feel some kind of survivor’s guilt?
‘You feel like, God, I’m here, I can do whatever I want. But somehow it feels almost wrong. Especially in the beginning of the war, even answering simple text messages would be too much. You are concentrated on the war development, and everything else becomes almost meaningless. But at a certain point, you have to force yourself to go back to work and start meeting friends again.
‘It helps when I dance or do yoga, because then I don’t check my phone, I don’t see the news. At night I draw. It’s like a meditation process. I feel I can’t really complain, about my fears and worries. But there is a lot of stress and sadness. It was always an option to go back to Ukraine at some point. Now I feel I don’t have a base anymore.’
ABOUT NATALIIA VDOVYCHENKO (Kyiv, Ukraine, 1996)
2012 – 2016 bachelor German Linguistics, Kyiv National Linguistic University
2017 – 2022 bachelor Tilburg University Online Culture: Art, Media and Society; Research Master in Linguistics and Communication Science
2018- 2023 research assistant, Tilburg University
2021- 2022 research assistant, European Commission
2023 – today PhD Tilburg School of Humanities and Digital Sciences