SPEAKING THE LANGUAGE OF SOLIDARITY: Learning Ukrainian

I have recently been motivated to start learning Ukrainian and I am hardly the only one. According to Duolingo, at least 1.3 million people started learning the language in 2022, no doubt prompted by the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russia in February of last year. This has led me to think a lot about the reason one learns a language and the intrinsic importance of language to identity.

Since starting my studies, I have been told by several people that I am better to learn Russian due to its larger global utility – it being a language spoken by around 350 million people worldwide (of whom, approximately two thirds native) compared to Ukrainian’s around 41 million native speakers. Whilst such an argument makes sense at first glance, I don’t find it to be particularly relevant.

This common calculation reminds me of my experience learning Dutch – a language spoken by a relatively small 23 million people. There is widespread belief amongst expats in the Netherlands, especially prevalent in native English speakers, that Dutch is not worth learning as people mostly speak English, and one is, thus, better off learning another more widely spoken language. The irony here is that very few of those offering this view opt to learn any language after years of living in the country – the global utility of other languages over Dutch is beside the point. In fact, the most useful language most English speakers in the Netherlands can learn is Dutch; simply, as on a day-to-day basis, one can expect to intimately interact with more Dutch speakers than anyone else.

Indeed, with the Netherlands having one of the highest proportions of English speakers in the world, ‘getting around’ in my mother tongue has never been an issue. However, learning Dutch has opened doors for me in both my personal and professional lives. Even at the start of my time in the country, I found barmen way likelier to lend me their Dutch driver’s licenses (for age verification on the cigarette machines) when I asked in broken Dutch rather than English. More recently, my friends were surprised when my landlord chose me over a Dutch couple – I’m inclined to believe that me speaking to him solely in his language made the difference. In a land where tourists are ubiquitous, expats are fleeting, and people can be rather selective of which friendships they invest in, it also implies that you are at least a little bit likely to stick around.

Language is not simply a semantic code for the transfer of information but a complex form of holistic communication, imbued with culture and meaning. To learn another’s language is to demonstrate a sincere appreciation of – or, at least, an interest in – their social fabric. In practical terms, this lubricates social interactions as it increases trust; people are more likely to place their confidence in you when they witness the hours you have spent slaving away over such a defining facet of their in-group.

To greater and lesser extents, language is a foundational bloc of a group’s identity; whether the language itself, accents, or the use of slang. This is especially apparent in the national identities of certain countries. Georgia is a good example – the only country with a state language from the Kartvelian language family, with its own alphabet and grammatical structures. In 1978, the Soviet constitution would have seen the removal of Georgian as the country’s official language if not for student protests leading to an exception being negotiated with the Kremlin to prevent this. The park in Tbilisi where these protests took place has since been renamed Dedaena (‘Mother Language’) Park, and each year on 14 April (the day on which the legislation would have been ratified), Georgians celebrate Mother Language Day – a day of significant importance to the Georgian people. In a sense, the preservation of their language has become a proxy for the preservation of the Georgian culture despite efforts to see it erased.

According to Social Identity Theory, when a part of an individual's identity tied to a particular social group is threatened, they will strengthen their affiliation with that group as a way to bolster their self-concept and self-esteem. This would help explain the significance of language in the identity of the Georgian people. Similarly, Ukrainians, traditionally bilingual, have seen their native language acquire a deeper meaning as a symbol of national identity due to the ongoing conflict.

In recent months, The Guardian reported that many Russian-speaking Ukrainians are actively learning their national language, endeavouring to use it primarily in their daily lives – a phenomenon one referred to as “language as resistance”. A poll by the Democratic Initiatives Foundation published in March this year showed that the proportion of Ukrainians using Ukrainian in their daily lives went from 64% in 2021 to 71% in 2022; and those regarding it as their native language, from 77% to 88% in the same period. Given the circumstances, the resurgence of the Ukrainian language in Ukraine is far from surprising. The country’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, himself a native Russian-speaker who learned Ukrainian only as an adult, has leaned into it as a clear marker of his country’s distinctive culture when publicly addressing his nation.

For all of the practical benefits of acquiring a tool of communication, deciding to learn one language over another (particularly when you don’t live in the country) is surely also an expression of one’s identity. This is why the consideration of the utility of a language seems less relevant to me. It also explains why English-speaking Dutchies hold those that have made the effort to learn their language – when they don’t practically need to – in such high regard.

In a clear sense, I am learning Ukrainian as a mark of solidarity with the people of Ukraine. But I also see Ukraine as a country of the future as the spiritual centre of Europe inevitably gravitates eastward. Perhaps, if I keep it up, I will one day work there. However, even if such circumstances never materialise, it doesn’t matter; in learning the language, I will have gained a more intimate window into a culture that I admire.