By Camelia Tigau*
Svitlana—interviewed virtually on Tuesday, October 11, 2022—is very young, as is her friend, Dima, interviewed five days earlier. They are both Ukrainians in their twenties and live in Boston, USA. Svitlana does her best to hold back her tears during our talk. Nevertheless, on the other side of the screen that separates us, I can sense her need to scream out in pain. She is severely depressed. She left Ukraine with a friend in the spring of 2022 and crossed several borders to meet up with her brother in Boston. They first went to Hungary and stayed at an Airbnb owned by a landlord who was sympathetic to her situation and charged weekly rent. From there, they headed to Germany, where they found free shelter, but were unable to find work. Svitlana decided to apply for Temporary Protected Status in Canada, but the wait time in Germany was far too long; so she went to Finland to present her application and was accepted within three weeks. In Toronto, she was received by a welcoming family, part of the Ukraine Take Shelter platform. Linda and Patrick took her into their three-room house for several months along with two other Ukrainian women—one with two kids—and hosted them until they found jobs or could be reunited with family. The couple who participated in the Ukraine Take Shelter program spent their savings to accommodate the women and children, organized dinners, and even took them to see the sights of Toronto, hoping to raise their spirits.
Despite this warm welcome, Svitlana decided leave Canada. She felt lonely, so she moved in with her brother in Boston and applied for a work permit there. She has been waiting for four months now, and she expects it will be at least another four before she will be able to work. She has taken IT classes and is seeing a psychologist. She has a master’s in finance and was gainfully employed in her field before the war. Svitlana’s route to safety and family reunification traversed 13984 km, passing through nine cities (see map).
Svitlana recalls February 23, 2022: her boyfriend’s mother told them they should be ready in case anything happened. She had said the same thing in the past and they paid no heed. But this time was different. So they both packed their things and prepared to return with their parents. The next morning, Svitlana received a call from her boss telling her she had a ticket to go to Cyprus that same night. The company was moving its headquarters and Svitlana was invited to join the team abroad. She spoke with her parents and they all agreed it was the best option. But the next morning, Svitlana woke up to the sound of war. There was no way she could make it to Cyprus. So she took her cat, her documents, and clothes, and traveled to her parents’ home. A few weeks later, she began her trek to Hungary with her friend. Her parents stayed back, since her father is under 60 and may be called up to serve in the army.
Despite the packing, Svitlana says she took nothing with her. When I ask her if she prefers living in the US or Canada, she answers that she prefers Ukraine. In the survey I am conducting with skilled refugees and displaced professionals, she stopped answering at the section about prejudice. She doesn’t feel discriminated against—on the contrary—she feels people have been welcoming in the six countries she has visited this year. Her problem is not discrimination, but rather the war. It’s a war she never imagined, and she has no idea when it will end. She doesn´t seem to be interested in politics, and would prefer to simply get her life back. Every time she talks to her parents on the phone, she knows it might be the last time she hears their voices. Missiles fly over their village each day, but her parents keep on with their daily lives as an accountant and a driver. When she speaks to her family in Crimea, she is cautious to never bring up the subject of the war. The phones are likely tapped, and any negative comment about Russia could result in jail or even death; so the conversations are limited to simple small talk.
In contrast to Svitlana, her friend Dima is clearer about his immigration decision. He feels his stay abroad—in the US for now—makes more sense than going back home. Instead of fighting in the war, he sends money back home to his younger brother—who is 15—and his mother, an active post office worker who doesn’t want to quit her job because she finds it useful, particularly in times of war. Both Svitlana and Dima are permanently distrustful of Russians.
These are not characters from an action movie, but real diasporas in a world torn by conflict. Over the past two years, my research has addressed the responsibility to protect these young, skilled refugees: intellectual capital displaced by active or latent conflicts in countries such as Afghanistan, Honduras, Sudan, Syria, Uganda, Ukraine, and Venezuela. There is an alternative way to approach skilled migration and brain drain, focusing on governance instead of the back and forth of blame and guilt.
* Camelia Tigau is a Visiting Professor at the University of Toronto, Global Migration Lab and a researcher at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), Center for Research on North America. She is also a regional vice-president of the Global Research Forum on Diasporas and Transnationalism. She would like to thank the General Department for Academic Support (DGAPA) at the UNAM for the scholarship that made possible the fieldwork for this article. Special thanks to research assistants Rodrigo Said Bahena and Israel MartÃnez.