By Scott Douglas Jacobsen and Mariia Shakula (Translator, English-Ukrainian)

Mariia Shakula is a Ukrainian-born, Berlin-based multidisciplinary artist and integration consultant for Otivas. She relocated to Germany following Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022. Her creative work spans photography, graphic design, music. Alongside her artistic practice, she contributes to a coaching and consulting initiative supporting Ukrainian newcomers navigating German bureaucracy, employment, and cultural adaptation, drawing on her own lived experience of migration.

In this interview, Scott Douglas Jacobsen speaks with Mariia Shakula and Oleksandr Shakula about Ukrainian identity, migration, and adaptation in Germany after Russia’s full-scale invasion. Shakula reflects on linguistic pressure, Ukraine’s shift toward Ukrainian, and the challenges facing newcomers in Berlin. She contrasts Ukrainian digital speed with German bureaucracy, highlighting diaspora solidarity, cultural misunderstandings, and the emotional strain of rebuilding life through documents, institutions, language, patience, pressure, humour, and resilience.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What city are you originally from? What was life like growing up there before the full-scale invasion?

Mariia Shakula: Kyiv, the capital city of Ukraine.

Jacobsen: What about your mother and father? Where were they originally from?

Shakula: They are from a small city near Kyiv, possibly Pereyaslav. It is a historical city in Ukraine. They lived there until they were 18, and then they moved to Kyiv.

Jacobsen: How did they experience the Soviet period in what is now Ukrainian territory?

Shakula: They were young when it was happening, so they did not fully understand it then. However, now they understand that those were difficult times, especially in Ukraine. Maybe life was different in Russia, for example, in Moscow, but in Ukraine it was harder. They were around ten years old, so they did not fully understand how to feel about it. However, now, looking back, they can say it was hard. Ukraine was not the center of the Soviet Union. Moscow was. Ukraine was not a place where people felt good.

Jacobsen: Was there pressure from the Russian side on Ukraine back then, and is it reflected now?

Shakula: Back then, it was reflected mainly in language. Russian was everywhere. If you wanted to study at a university or in school, it had to be in Russian. It was introduced everywhere, almost like a parasite. There was one main language, Russian, and if you wanted to study, work, or do anything, you needed to speak and write it.

However, our native language is Ukrainian. For my parents and for me, Ukrainian is the native language, and Kyiv and the small city near Kyiv are Ukrainian-speaking. In the family, we also spoke Ukrainian. So, to study in school or university, they had to learn Russian.

Now, about the pressure today, it is lower than before. People have begun to understand what Russia represents, and the idea of the “Russian world” has changed. Many people still speak Russian, mostly those from eastern regions. However, you do not see the same pressure about language. You can speak Russian or Ukrainian.

Of course, during the war, it feels strange to speak Russian. Still, many people do, especially depending on the region. After the Soviet Union, there was not much pressure on language, so more people began speaking Ukrainian.

Since 2019, the government has introduced a law requiring Ukrainian to be used in official settings. In government institutions, such as when applying for a passport, you must use Ukrainian. This also connects to the events of 2014, when the war began.

After the full-scale invasion in 2022, many people who previously spoke Russian started trying to switch to Ukrainian. At the same time, Ukraine is a free country. You can speak the language you want: Ukrainian, Russian, English, or French. Before the war, there was no issue with Russian. We had TV shows in Russian. Even the president was involved in Russian-language television. So it was not controversial before.

Jacobsen: I think that Ukrainians now are more likely not to speak Russian than to speak it.

Shakula: It depends on the region. In western Ukraine, people speak Ukrainian more, and there are even Polish influences in the language. In Kyiv, many people speak Russian because it is a major city and people come from different regions. Overall, many Ukrainians understand and speak Russian. It was also taught as a subject in schools.

Jacobsen: How do you find the Ukrainian diaspora in Germany adapting to German rhythms of life compared to Ukraine? What feels common or uncommon?

Shakula: Do you mean in Germany generally, or specifically the Ukrainian diaspora in Germany?

Jacobsen: The Ukrainian diaspora in Germany, how they experience the differences in rhythm.

Jacobsen: What was the question? How do they feel?

Shakula: They feel like they are in a foreign country. Not much time has passed, we are talking about the diaspora that came after 2022, after the full-scale war. So it is still recent. People unite and try to communicate with each other because, in any country, when you arrive from abroad, you are not immediately accepted. It takes time to build relationships.

For the first two years, many were waiting for the war to end so they could return. Now, they are starting to settle and build connections.

Jacobsen: What are the differences?

Shakula: Everything is bureaucratic here. People say Ukraine has bureaucracy, but here everything is bureaucratic and slow. The German language is difficult for Ukrainians, and the system is mentally challenging.

The Ukrainian diaspora in Germany is large, and it formed quickly. There were Ukrainians in Germany before 2022, and after the war began, those earlier communities helped create organizations. New arrivals could go somewhere, find support. We stay in close contact with each other. It is more comfortable when someone speaks your language, understands your mentality, and knows your country. Germany is different on a mental level; Germans think differently, speak differently, and their humour is very different from ours. It can be hard to connect.

Jacobsen: The joke I told your dad earlier, I told it to Oleksandr. For Germans, if they were attacked, they would not use dark humour. First, they do not really use that kind of humour, and second, humour is energy-inefficient. What is the mentality? How is it different? We are speaking generally, of course, individuals vary.

Shakula: Yes, of course. For example, the basic expectations are different. In Ukraine, you can go to a shop 24/7. There are many places open at any hour; you can go at 2 a.m. and buy what you need. Even on Sundays or on December 31, shops stay open late.

Here, it was hard to understand that everything is closed on Sundays. After 8 p.m., everything is closed. You work until 6 p.m., so you have to plan to buy food. If you want to buy something like a T-shirt, you cannot, because in Ukraine, malls are open until 10 or 11 p.m. Here, everything closes early.

Also, basic services are different. In Ukraine, you can open a bank account on your phone and receive a card within minutes. Here, you must go to a bank, bring many documents, and wait. First, you wait for the PIN, then for the card, then for access to the app. It can take up to two months. For us, it takes five minutes.

Jacobsen: Is there a reason for all of that waiting on the German side? Is there a reason there should be fewer steps in Germany and maybe more steps in Ukraine?

Shakula: Yes. In Ukraine, we are not afraid of digitalization or data systems. Here, people are more concerned about privacy. You cannot easily film or take photos of people, and you often cannot email a government office; you must send a letter.

I had never sent or even seen a letter in Ukraine. It surprised me to see this in Germany, which we always thought of as the most productive, economically stable, and developed country in Europe. Some people still use fax.

They send letters instead of emails. In Ukraine, email was already standard, especially for work, along with tools like Google Meet. However, here, you email teachers instead of using WhatsApp, Viber, or Telegram, and sometimes you even send letters to banks. It felt strange.

Moreover, waiting is normal here. People can wait three months for a doctor’s appointment. I waited three months myself. In Ukraine, you open an app and can get an appointment the next day. Here, three months is considered normal.

For Germans, this is acceptable. They do not necessarily want changes. In Ukraine, everything is fast and digital; you can access things easily. Here, it works differently, and for people who grew up in this system, it feels normal. For us, coming from another system, it feels unusual.

Of course, this is our perspective, mine, my friends’, and people we know. Many share the same impression.

Jacobsen: Yes. As we travel, my general view of cultures is that they are about trade-offs. What works depends on context. What works for a Bedouin tribe member in Jordan differs from what works for someone in Tel Aviv, Kyiv, or Berlin, and also from what works in places like Vancouver or New York City. So what you are describing is about trade-offs in sensibility, how it feels to fax instead of email, or to deal with more bureaucracy instead of less.

Shakula: Yes. Bureaucracy is another big difference in Germany. In Ukraine, I had just a few documents: my ID, my international passport, and my birth certificate.

Here, I have many more. I have multiple IDs, a banking ID, and other documents. Bureaucracy here is something new and difficult. And not all Germans know how to deal with it easily either; it can be complicated even for them.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Mariia.