As a hot topic in political debates and speculations, and a frozen subject in practical politics, the “language issue” penetrates all domains of contemporary Ukraine – from everyday practices to the nation-building process – and generates opposing images, ideas, and actions. The legacy of Russian imperial and Soviet language policies, as well as Ukraine’s nation- and state-building policies,^[1] has shaped the competition between the Russian and Ukrainian languages. The fate of the Ukrainian language is often depicted as closely interrelated with the fate of the Ukrainian nation and the independent Ukrainian state. In turn, the Russian language has come to be seen by some as a possible threat. In other words, some see the Russian language as a representation of Ukraine’s colonial past and, without emancipation from the Russian language, Ukraine cannot be emancipated from the “colonial present.”^[2] For others, the presence of the Russian language in Ukraine is a natural outcome of historical developments; the Russian language may be considered more “natural” in some parts of the country than Ukrainian.

“INDIRECT” LANGUAGE POLITICS AND IDENTITY: FRAMING THE STUDY

Sharing the view that the language issue in post-Soviet Ukraine is a “work in progress,” we aim to analyze some of the ongoing changes concerning language use. In particular, our focus is on the processes of constructing and reconstructing images of languages and their role in the production of representations of “self” and “other.” In this article, we first examine the historical background of the language issue, and then proceed to look at how the legacies of previous language policies, as well as the contemporary language situation, are perceived by students in Kharkiv.^[3] To illuminate these processes, we find it especially valuable to examine the views and opinions of students – i.e., those who constitute the “first generation” of independent Ukraine. This generation has lived most of its life in an independent Ukraine and has been the first “target group” of Ukrainian national education. We focus on the educational system, since it functions as “a powerful and visible instrument of the state and one expects that officially sanctioned practices will be reflected in its curriculum and policies. [...] Schools and teachers have increasingly, in fact, played the role of agents of social change.”^[4] The educational system disseminates the official ideology to new generations, and we believe that this is revealed in our interviews with students.
The school system carries out language policies by way of its curriculum and seeks to form Ukrainian citizens with common values, traditions, and a common history. In other words, the educational system plays an important role in the creation of an “imagined community” (to borrow Benedict Anderson’s term)^[5] built upon a common language. In post-Soviet Ukraine, these nation-building processes are complicated by the language competition between Russian and Ukrainian. As our empirical material shows, however, what we may call the “indirect language policies” of the Ukrainian state seem to have had some effect already. Still, the “language situation”^[6] remains unclear: we aim to describe the ambiguity found in a borderland where two languages play different roles with respect to the processes of identification, the negotiation of cultural belongings, and the production of images of past, present, future, and “self” and “other.”
We address how Kharkiv university students depict the Ukrainian and Russian languages, and how these images are linked to perceptions of the past and future. In addition, we look at how “self” and “other” are constructed through talking about languages and the role language is perceived to play for the Ukrainian nation-state. We also examine some cultural representations of Russians and Ukrainians in this borderland area and examine how they relate to linguistic stereotypes. First, the place of the Ukrainian language in the Russian Empire, the Soviet Union, and Ukraine is outlined. Then we examine the place of Kharkiv in the imperial as well as national context and look at the way this city’s identity has been constructed. The last part consists of an analysis of interview material about self-representations, identity formation, and stereotypes based on language use and examines the legacies of past as represented by today’s university students.
Given its history and location, Kharkiv provides an extremely interesting site for fieldwork. It was an important imperial and Soviet city, on the one hand, but it is also widely seen as Ukraine’s “second city,” after Kyiv. Kharkiv was the center of “Ukrainianization” in the 1920s, yet it is now considered a Russian-speaking city. Yet, the Ukrainian language has always been present in the oblast and in the rural areas around the city. As a result there has been an urban-rural dimension (reinforced during the Soviet period and still visible in the younger generation) to the language issue. A brief discussion of the historical background to the current language situation follows.

FROM THE LEGACY OF THE PAST TO THE UNCERTAINTY OF THE PRESENT

For a long period, the Ukrainian language was considered a “low” language vis-а-vis two “high” languages, Russian and Polish. Since both Russian and Polish were the languages of the respective governments and educated people in what is now Ukraine, the Ukrainian language was relegated to a diminished status.^[7] To some degree, this has been preserved until today. Despite the fact that Ukrainian is the only state language in Ukraine, Russian still competes with Ukrainian in numerous regions and social contexts.
During the Tsarist Empire, the Ukrainian language suffered several setbacks due to hostile educational and language policies intended to, among other things, stem possible Ukrainian separatism. Peter I issued a decree against the publication of Ukrainian books in 1720. Under Catherine II, higher education in the Ukrainian language at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy was prohibited. During the 19th century, decrees further limited the use of Ukrainian: in 1863, the Valuev decree renewed the ban on publishing literature in the Ukrainian language, and the Ems decree of 1876 prohibited the import of Ukrainian-language literature from Galicia, Ukrainian territory that had been incorporated into the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Tsarist language policies have been described as policies of Russification, and in the Ukrainian context, were aimed at exterminating the cultural and scientific potential of the Ukrainian nation.^[8] The Russian Empire’s linguists saw a common language as necessary for creating unity and loyalty. According to the linguists, Russian was to play this role: it “was one of the world’s leading Indo-European languages,” whereas Ukrainian and Belarusian were “component dialects of a singular ‘great Russian language.’”^[9] In this scheme, the Russian language also played an important role in education: “teachers and state administrators saw language teaching as a means to cultivate a standardized and disciplined Russian national identity” and “[t]raditional curricula highlighted the role of the Russian language in ‘moral education’ of students and the inculcation of ‘patriotic feelings.’”^[10] These policies were not restricted to Russian territories. Indeed, the Russian language was proclaimed as the “single cement” and state language of the whole empire, especially for the western borderlands.
During the brief period between the end of the Russian Empire in February 1917 and the full incorporation of Ukraine as a Soviet republic in 1920, hopes were raised for political autonomy within a new Russian Federation, or even for the creation of an independent Ukrainian state. The Ukrainian National Republic was proclaimed in 1918, and for the first time an official Ukrainian language policy was formulated. Both in the Ukrainian National Republic and the Ukrainian SSR, the introduction of the Ukrainian language faced similar concerns. First, demands for the Ukrainianization of both government administration and the school system had to be met. Simultaneously, it was necessary to fight “those hostile to the very idea of a Ukrainian language on the grounds of its lack of orthographical norms, its inadequate lexical and terminological resources, and its ‘general coarseness’ that is, it was not omnifunctional, needed normalization, and suffered from a lack of prestige.”^[11]
In the 1920s, the so-called korenizatsiia (rooting) policy aimed to develop the linguistic and cultural institutions in the periphery. The original claims of the language policy in this period were, first, to promote the national languages that had been suppressed by the Tsarist Empire and make them the media of education. Second, the official stance held that no language should be given priority over any other. Importantly, this also included the legal equality of the Russian and Ukrainian languages. Yet, there were also those who perceived the Ukrainian language as a symbol of persistent Ukrainian nationalism connected to the National Republic, the bourgeoisie, and the kulaks – a view that became the predominant official stance and that dealt a final blow to the status of the Ukrainian language within the Soviet Union.
Another aspect of the language issue is the cultural and linguistic assimilation that went hand in hand with urbanization. Before the urbanization of the Soviet era, there had been a predominance of ethnic Russians and other Russian-speakers in the major Ukrainian cities. Thus, the assimilation process went faster in the cities than in the countryside, and Russian became the language of the city and of the proletariat, and ultimately the symbol of modernity and progress.
It was not only in the linguistic sphere that equality was called for during the 1920s. Members of the Ukrainian intelligentsia “sought to equalize the cultural, economic, and political ties between the RSFSR and the UkrSSR by defending Ukrainian cultural and historical heritage.”^[12] According to Liber, unlike their Russian counterparts, who focused on Bolshevik state-building in the 1920s, Ukrainian writers were involved in nation-building: “Ukrainian writers had to combat not only the cultural underdevelopment of the countryside, but also the underdevelopment of its national consciousness after centuries of tsarist oppression.”^[13] The writer Mykola Khvylovyi, one of the intellectuals most determined to secure equal-partner status with Russia for the Ukrainian SSR, argued that Ukrainian literature “should follow its own path of development.” He called for Ukrainian writers to turn toward Western Europe and look for influences outside Russian literature. Thus, Khvylovyi was opposed to the idea of Russian supremacy or the “alleged Russian hegemony of language, literature, and culture” and attempted to distance Ukrainian literature and culture from the Russian.^[14] Khvylovyi was at the center of the so-called Literary Debates in Kharkiv in 1925-1926, but he was to be defeated by Stalin. These events point to the existence of pluralist thought and an independent Ukrainian intelligentsia in the 1920s, but with Stalin’s accumulation of power and increasing centralization and Russocentrism, these alternative visions of developing Ukrainian culture within the Soviet Union were crushed. Quite literally, the Ukrainian intelligentsia and its achievements were destroyed in Stalin’s repressions in the 1930s. The impact that this has had on the development of Ukrainian literature, culture, and language should not be underestimated.
In 1961, Khrushchev coined the concept of “Russian as the second native language,” marking a turning point in Soviet language planning. The education reform laws of 1958-59 gave parents the option of choosing the language of instruction for their children, something that caused a shift in favor of Russian in many schools. Even though Ukrainian may have been used as the language of instruction in schools throughout the entire period, most higher education was conducted in Russian only. Russian was the undisputable language of all scientific work (for instance, from 1975 onward, dissertations needed to be written in Russian in order to be approved). Under Brezhnev, the view on Russian language altered again – Russian was “no longer considered a ‘foreign language’ but ‘the language of all Soviet citizens’.”^[15]
Judging from our empirical material, the language issue in contemporary Ukraine is framed by this centuries-old hierarchical relation between Ukrainian and Russian. However, this language hierarchy has been somewhat altered with the breakup of the Soviet Union and the ensuing Ukrainian independence. In the 1989 Language Law, the Ukrainian language became the only state language in Ukraine, a status reinforced with independence in 1991 and by the 1996 constitution.^[16] Today, Russian is defined as one of several minority languages, but the status of Russian is often discussed in terms of whether it should be designated as a second state language. Despite Ukrainian’s official status, Russian is still widely used in large parts of the country, even though it is not sanctioned by the law. Yet, as in previous times, educational policies are still to be regarded as central to language policy, even if the effects are not those intended by policy. Just as educational programs were used to form Russian citizens within the Russian Empire and Soviet citizens within the Soviet Union, so does the Ukrainian state use its educational system to form Ukrainian citizens. In that process, language plays a crucial role and, as the analysis of the empirical data demonstrates, the Ukrainian language has now replaced the Russian language in certain areas of social life.

KHARKIV WITHIN EMPIRE AND NATION

Kharkiv is the second largest city in Ukraine after Kyiv and it is situated in a borderland area merely 40 km from the Russian border. The position and role of Kharkiv within the Tsarist and Soviet Empires and the Ukrainian nation-state has been rather contradictory. The Kharkiv historian Volodymyr Kravchenko claims Kharkiv has served a “dual role in the region” from “the beginning of its history.”^[17] Founded in the 17th century as a settlement of Ukrainian Cossacks from the Transdnieper region, and later accompanied by Russian migrants, Kharkiv soon came under Moscow’s protectorate. Thus, from the beginning there were two cultural influences: Ukrainian and Great Russian. Contemporary Kharkiv is composed of a mixed Ukrainian-Russian population. Consequently, the population of Kharkiv has developed a distinct identity based upon two dimensions: the temporal (related to the past, present, and future), and the spatial (related to the city’s role in different regional, national, and international contexts).
In terms of the city’s role in culture, politics, and ideology, political authorities have defined and redefined Kharkiv’s in accordance with their purposes. In the Tsarist Empire, Kharkiv was regarded as a strong mediator in the Empire’s expansion to the South. The establishment of Kharkiv University – the third in the Russian Empire – in 1804 was but one tool of this advancement. But, ironically, in the 19th and at the beginning of the 20th century, Kharkiv University had a great number of professors with research interests in Ukrainian history, language, and culture. Moreover, 19th-century Kharkiv was known as a city of Ukrainian writers and poets. In some periods, Kharkiv became a “shelter” in the dramatic fates of many intellectuals, but at the same time the authorities viewed it as an inferior city. It is notable that during the Tsarist and Soviet regimes, Kharkiv was one of the cities to which the authorities sent opponents of the regime. In the 1930s, when many scientists in Moscow and Leningrad were persecuted, Soviet authorities dispatched them to Kharkiv.^[18] In such a way, Kharkiv was an important city, but not of first-rank significance. This was so even during the period when Kharkiv served as the first capital of Soviet Ukraine, and later during the Soviet period, when it was the USSR’s third city of importance in terms of education, scientific research, and military industry. In the political and economic life of independent Ukraine, one can observe a “gradual reduction of the role of Kharkiv.”^[19] One reason for this may be the mostly Russian-speaking population and its electoral preferences for parties of the left – neither of which fit well into the general processes of Ukrainian nation-building. Some scholars view these two elements – Russian language and preference for left parties – as stable attributes of a “Soviet identity” that impede the formation of a Ukrainian national identity.^[20] One of the latest attempts concerning Kharkiv’s status was its nomination as the “informal capital of Ukrainian-Russian relations” by ex-president Leonid Kuchma. The current Kharkiv governor, Arsen Avakov, has said that he “constantly tell[s] leaders from Kyiv that Kharkiv is the bridgehead and the way to the east.”^[21]
Thus, in terms of its position within the Empire, as well as within the Ukrainian nation-state, Kharkiv has experienced a kind of flirtation from the authorities: as the mediator of the Empire’s advancement to the South, as the first capital of Soviet Ukraine in the USSR, and now as the informal capital of Ukrainian-Russian relations. This position of the authorities toward Kharkiv has provoked and stimulated the Kharkiv population to develop its own identity. The construction and reconstruction of a distinctive identity tends to draw on history in the attempt to demonstrate the significance of Kharkiv both within the Empire and in Ukraine’s national history. The image of Kharkiv as a city of science, culture, and industry, and as the first capital, is a strong part of the local identity. It is not hard to find the notion of “the first” in representations of Kharkiv. For instance, a web site that introduces the city’s history to the visitor is linked first of all to the discoveries and achievements in culture, science, and industry, emphasizing that things were “first discovered in Kharkiv,” subdividing the facts presented as the “first time in Russia,” the “first time in the USSR,” or the “first time in the world.”^[22] Describing Kharkiv in the Ukrainian national context, this site states: “in our state’s history, Kharkov means the first university, the first theatre, the first chronicle, the first art museum, the oldest zoo and circus, musical college, and college of art.”^[23]
The most intriguing question in Kharkiv is the debate on what languages represent or should represent the city’s multi-faceted heritage. This is reinforced by the fact that the city’s “identity became part of different national narratives, first of all, Russian imperial, Soviet, and Ukrainian.”^[24] Within both empire and nation, Kharkiv has experienced several waves of Russification and Ukrainianization, each of which has had different defining characteristics and different outcomes. When it was the capital of Soviet Ukraine, Kharkiv became a center of Ukrainianization. The Kharkiv of the 1920s saw a flourishing cultural life: books and journals were published, plays were written and performed in Ukrainian, and as mentioned above, a pluralistic cultural and literary debate took place. After a short time, this wave of Ukrainianization was replaced by another stage of Russification. After the long domination of the Russian language in the official policy of the Soviet Union, Kharkiv is now experiencing a new kind of Ukrainianization. The wavering between the authorities’ preferences for the Ukrainian and Russian languages in policy has affected and affects the production of popular attitudes toward language and culture.

NATION AND NARRATION: THE LANGUAGE ISSUE IN STAGE PERFORMANCES AND THE PERFORMANCE OF LANGUAGES

The younger generation is concerned about Ukrainian independence and the possible threat represented by the Russian language. However, the Russian language is also a part of this borderland landscape and the lives of the students interviewed for this study. The students therefore see the Russian language as part of themselves and their personal histories, as well as part of the history of the region. Consequently, this area is marked by so-called “mixed” or “hybrid” identities, a result of Kharkiv’s position under various regimes and consequent migration flows. Paul Pirie has proposed a scheme for ethnic self-identification in southern and eastern Ukraine that accounts for the possibility of multiple ethnic identifications.^[25] Individuals may have a bi-ethnic identification (both Ukrainian and Russian for instance) or “a marginal ethnicity” (not identifying with any ethnic group), or be in a state of transition from one identity to another. Pirie argues that “inter-ethnic marriage, urbanization, and language usage are all factors that contribute to mixed self-identification.”^[26] This situation of mixed identities clearly stretches to the language situation as well. Underneath the common notion of Kharkiv as a Russian-speaking city, there is a complex language situation to be revealed.
In order to examine these questions, we will also bring onto the stage some polemical or controversial figures, represented by staged performances and characterized as comedic, satirical, or even vexing. One of the interesting links to the language issue in contemporary Kharkiv can be found in Mykola Kulish’s play of the 1920s, Myno Mazailo. The play is set in Kharkiv in the 1920s and discusses language issues and the policies of Ukrainianization. Myno Mazailo is now in the repertoire of the Kharkiv Theater of Ukrainian Drama. We have paid special attention to this play, since it not only portrays language discussions based on the specific situation of Kharkiv, but also because it shows that there was a plurality of attitudes and responses to the language issue in the 1920s – just as there is today.^[27] In the play, Mykola Kulish brilliantly describes the different language attitudes of the time. But more importantly, these attitudes are also easily tracked in contemporary Ukraine. Even though the changes after 1991 have not been as revolutionary as those depicted in Kulish’s plays, this period is nevertheless interesting as a reference point for contemporary Ukraine. Myno Mazailo is a satirical and polemical comedy. Kulish also wrote about different outlooks of Ukrainian nationalism, responses to the revolution, and different ideologies: “the characters are shown experimenting with different roles; they try on attitudes, clothes, and poses – for size as it were; they posture in front of others. The age was one of transition and uncertainty and produced characters who were searching for what was both permanent and changeable in human conduct.”^[28] However, the Soviet authorities did not accept Kulish’s approach as the atmosphere of the 1920s changed, and from the early 1930s, his plays were banned in Ukraine. Like many of his contemporaries in the Ukrainian intelligentsia, Kulish was labeled an enemy of the state. During the persecutions of Ukrainian writers, he was arrested in December 1934 and died in the Gulag in 1937. When Myno Mazailo is performed in Kharkiv today, it is presented as “the play that was prohibited for more than fifty years,” thus linking the staging of the play today to the aborted development of Ukrainian culture in the 1930s.
The play revolves around the character Myno Mazailo, who is determined to change his last name from the Ukrainian-sounding Mazailo to something closer to Russian, ending up with the new name Mazenin. Myno Mazailo is an archetype of the provincial Ukrainian trying to climb the social ladder toward becoming more Russian, with, among other things, the help of language. The issue of “Ukrainianness” in Kulish’s characters may be complimented by the contemporary image of Verka Serdiuchka, a personality created by the entertainer Andrii Danylko. In a comical way, this character represents people’s simplistic ways, manifested through her use of surzhyk, a derogatory term for a mixture of Ukrainian and Russian. This term often refers to “impure” language, and this is linked to the purist language ideology in contemporary Ukraine. That the concept of “purity” is perceived as essential is clear given that several of our interviewees talked about surzhyk as a “problem” and maintained that “pure” Ukrainian is the only “real” Ukrainian language that may represent the Ukrainian nation.^[29] But if Kulish’s Mazailo saw “Russianness” as more socially prestigious than “Ukrainianness,” for Danylko’s Serdiuchka the question of prestige does not exist: Serdiuchka does not “articulate” these issues, but quite often she is viewed as being engendered by Ukrainianness, and in some opinions, even as a representative of Ukrainianness. The controversy is over what kind of Ukrainianness this character represents.
In Ukraine, there are opposing views of Serdiuchka, who is actually more popular in Russia. Those who condemn Serdiuchka claim that she represents Ukrainianness in a simplistic and mocking way. We do not aim to analyze existing stereotypes about Ukraine and Ukrainians in Russia, but when Serdiuchka is portrayed in the Russian mass media, her “national color” is emphasized by labeling her a “Ukrainian woman”^[30] and by describing this national color as “provinciality.”^[31] Furthermore, some journalists endow her with a symbolic dimension representing Ukraine, but this is limited by a simplistic vision: “For many Russians, the rousing and childishly spontaneous Verka Serdiuchka has today become as familiar a symbol of Ukraine as gorilka, salo, and borshch.”^[32] Serdiuchka is received more ambiguously in Ukraine: one of the students interviewed held that she is a figure that the Russians are envious about because Serdiuchka is proof that “the Ukrainians can distinguish themselves, invent such an image, play in this way; in Russia, there is no one like this.”^[33] Thus, for some Ukrainians the images of Andrii Danylko as Verka Serdiuchka – who crosses between genders, languages, and low-high culture – are seen as positive features sprung out of a specifically Ukrainian setting.

RUSSOCENTRISM AND THE INFERIORITY COMPLEX: CREATING A HIERARCHY OF LANGUAGES

The most interesting character in Mykola Kulish’s play for the purposes of this article is Tiotia Motia. She is a Russian-speaking aunt from Kursk, and with great sarcasm Kulish has managed to show how Tiotia Motia looks at herself as better, i.e., Russian-speaking, while she is still ridiculous in her own provinciality. She is also as a representative of what Orest Subtelny has labeled “the Russocentric mentality.”^[34] This concept relates to a frame of mind in which Russian culture is associated with “thinking big,” in contrast to Ukrainian provincialism. According to Subtelny, it includes a desire to identify with a messianic mission that may be Orthodox, Communist, and Russian. Whereas traditional ways and backwardness are associated with Ukraine, modernity and internationalism are related to Russia. The components of such a mentality combine to create a notion of Russian superiority, especially in the cultural field. Russia thus equals progress, modernization, and power. This is a heritance still visible today, and such perceptions are part of the legacy that may make some of today’s young Ukrainians hesitant when asked to define themselves and their cultural belonging.
When the students discussed themes related to culture, tradition, and language, negative stereotypes of Ukrainian culture and the Ukrainian language surfaced quite spontaneously. This situation also relates to previous language and cultural politics, since, as has been outlined, the Russian language was considered the language of progress, high culture (such as Russian classical literature and music), and communism, i.e., “the bright future.” The Ukrainian language, on the contrary, represented the peasant population, low culture, and everything outdated. The Ukrainian language has been regarded as less developed than Russian; it was claimed that Ukrainian lacked a sufficient vocabulary for a modern life and was merely good enough for folklore and poetry.^[35] As several of the students commented during the interviews, the Ukrainian language is still associated with the rural area surrounding Kharkiv and with the peasants coming from the countryside to the marketplaces in the city. When students in one of the groups were asked which stereotypes of Ukrainian and Russian still exist, it resulted in the following exchange of opinions. Clearly, these students engage easily with some of the stereotypes that make the Ukrainian language less “attractive” than Russian.

Student 1: …an inferiority complex. When some young people on the bus speak in Ukrainian and others in Russian, those who [speak] in Russian look at the others condescendingly. Ukrainians were always considered lower class.
Student 2: For me, Ukrainian culture and the Ukrainian language are associated with the 18th century, with the past, with grandmothers and grandfathers. And now, for the young people, the Russian language has firmly become a part of our lives.
Student 3: I believe that stereotypes were formed apropos the Ukrainian culture, the Ukrainian language, traditional clothing [sharovary], salo, but apart from that, nobody knows anything more. Now we have business Ukrainian, a contemporary Ukrainian language, which few people know. It is just a subject of study, but all public affairs are in Russian. It is just that many people do not know that the Ukrainian language is becoming more modern, and many people do not speak it.
(Students, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

In this excerpt, students discuss the inferiority complex and the notion of Ukrainians “always being of a lower class.” Furthermore, these ideas are linked to the perception of the Ukrainian language as “outdated.” As in Russocentrism, the Russian language is the language of the young and the future. However, as the last student points out, she believes that the times are changing: it is only that other people are not aware that a modern Ukrainian language fit for contemporary Ukrainians exists. Instead, she sees the traditional stereotypes relating to a specific way of life and hampering the spread of the Ukrainian language. In relation to this conception of the Ukrainian language, a figure like Verka Serdiuchka might be regarded as one of the factors preserving the traditional stereotypes of the Ukrainian language and a linkage to the provinciality and “unsophisticated” nature of Ukrainian culture.
On the other hand, the students also see the Ukrainian language as creating political or ideological boundaries to the past, the Soviet Union, and the Communists – features that the students associate with Russian. Several of the students linked the use of the Russian language to their grandparents or others of that generation, the “real communists,” the old people who built communism, as well as to the Communists of today, who “direct their attention to the elderly population, in general they [speak] in Russian.” (Student, Kharkiv National University of Pharmacology, 14 October 2003)

“It seems that the entire engineer part of our society, who finished their education in the period of Soviet power – that is, the generation that is 30 years or older – speaks in Russian. The people who came from the countryside speak in surzhyk – a mix of Russian and Ukrainian – and the people who have state positions as well as rather high [positions], for instance somewhere in the city council, speak in Ukrainian.”
(Student, Kharkiv State Academy of Municipal Economy, 23 October 2003)

In this quotation, Russian speakers are firmly associated with the past: the student makes differentiations between generations, periods of education, and occupations (perhaps an observation particular to Kharkiv). The Ukrainian language, then, has come to represent a new generation, the future as well as the present. Often it also represents the independent state and the well-being of the nation, and it thus becomes related to the “survival of the nation.”

“Every nation should have its own language, which it has no right to forget. And if not, this nation will be mixed up with all the others and forget about itself. It will cease to exist. All this is because the Ukrainian people know little about their culture. Who goes to the museums? Practically no one. And in general only very few people know their roots, their origins, and therefore there is no desire to speak Ukrainian.”
(Student, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

This quotation also demonstrates the inferiority complex. The student claims that the Ukrainian nation does not really know itself, and without knowledge of its culture or origins, it is in danger of disappearing or forgetting about itself. However, the student also mentioned Ukraine’s place in the world, i.e., that Ukraine has not yet established herself as in independent entity in the eyes of others. Even though the student quoted below says that she finds it difficult to say that one of the languages is more prestigious, the Russian language already had its opportunity during the Soviet period.

“Well, you know, nevertheless… from a political viewpoint, it would look something like this: When the USSR still existed, the Russian language was dominant. And on the international stage, only the Russian language was noticed. I believe it is difficult now for the representatives of other countries to get used to the idea that Ukraine is a state with its own native language. To say that one language is more prestigious and another one less so is difficult. But [one could say that] the Russian language has had by far much more time to be rooted than the Ukrainian. It is just that we are entirely young as an independent state, we have had so much less time.”
(Student, Department of Radiophysics, Kharkiv National University, 16 October 2003)

Thus, the legacy of the past is reflected in an inferiority complex to the Russian language, Russian culture, and Russian literature and the notion that Ukraine is somehow not so important or well-known. The Ukrainian state is presented as being young; it is claimed that time is needed for changes to come along that may improve the situation. This is especially associated with showing respect to the country or the state, Ukrainian culture, and traditions.

“I cannot say that I do not know my native language, but I speak in Russian. That is, the society speaks in Russian, and I do too, of course. Everybody must realize that it is necessary to speak in Ukrainian and to do everything possible [to achieve that]. It is necessary to have respect for the language. I have heard old ladies saying that “this independent Ukraine, if only she perished” and so on… that is not respect. They still sees things the old way.”
(Student, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

Some of the students expressed quite clearly that they see Ukrainian as their own language. They see it as natural that Ukraine should become Ukrainian-speaking and they disagree with the conventional view of the deep-rooted nature of the Russian language. A belief in the unbreakable link between nation and language was quite strong with some of the students, who suggested that Russian is an anomaly that does not belong in the Ukrainian nation.
Well, after all [Ukrainian] is our historical language. Why should we have to lose it because we were forced to speak in another language for 80 years? We will be deprived of our own language. What kind of nation are we, if we are deprived of our language?
(Student, Kharkiv National University of Pharmacology, 14 October 2003)

PORTRAYING LANGUAGES, CREATING IMAGES, DEFINING “SELF” AND “OTHERS”

Past and future meet when language is discussed in contemporary Ukraine, such as when the Ukrainian language is simultaneously represented as the traditional “low” language and as the contemporary “high” language, i.e., the state language. This leads to the question of what the Ukrainian language represents to these students. As seen above, linguistic stereotypes may put the languages firmly into separate boxes, but there are also indications that the stereotypes are changing.

“Now, everything is changing. Before, if a person spoke Ukrainian he would never be regarded as a leader… now it is the other way around. If a person speaks in Russian, he is not regarded in the same way as if he spoke Ukrainian. We watch TV, hear the news… when discussions are held among the representatives in the Verkhovna Rada, everything is in Ukrainian.”
(Student, Kharkiv National University of Pharmacology, 14 October 2003)

However, as exemplified in the following exchange, the reactions that might be encountered when using Ukrainian is certainly a reason why many still make the change from Ukrainian to Russian.

Student 1: So, they come from the oblast’ to the city of Kharkov and even feel ashamed to ask questions in Ukrainian. They do their best to go over to Russian straight away.
Student 2: In the first year [of university], do you remember, how we even started laughing?
Student 1: Yes.
Student 2: I remember very well that time when we all just made fun of people who came from other cities. We, like true Kharkovites, spoke Russian. Well, now that has already passed.
Student 3: I just remember my childish foolishness. It comes, I guess, with age.
(Students, Kharkiv National University of Pharmacology, 14 October 2003)

These quotations suggest the persistence of the rural-urban split, in which Kharkiv is portrayed as an urban, Russian-speaking place. Being a true Kharkovite, as pointed out here, means being a Russian speaker. When they were asked to explain this situation, this was laid out in some more detail. One student said, “you know, as for Kharkov, if you speak in Ukrainian here, it means that you come from some village.” Another student added “or from western Ukraine,” but the discussion was wrapped up by two other comments: “When you speak in Ukrainian, people say ‘Oh! That’s the countryside.’ ‘And people start laughing.’”
By using Russian, people clearly feel a priori accepted in society. When using Ukrainian, however, the situation becomes more ambivalent. This ambivalence lies in the notion of the Russian language as the norm and Ukrainian as the language of non-conformists. However, when this student and her fellow student were asked why they do not communicate with each other in Ukrainian, since both claim to speak Ukrainian fluently (and one uses it at home), it seemed this was not something they had thought about. Apparently they switch between languages, but only to some degree. It is also remarkable that one of them claims that they use Russian when they “discuss something serious.”

Student 1: Among ourselves? No, we don’t talk in Ukrainian. I don’t know why.
Student 2: Well, you know what, if [one] jokes in Ukrainian or something like that, then of course we [speak] in Ukrainian, songs, jokes, it is funny to everybody, to us, too. But serious themes we discuss, for some reason, in Russian.
(Students, Department of Radiophysics, Kharkiv National University, 16 October 2003)

This quotation points to another kind of division between Russian and Ukrainian: the Ukrainian language represents the private or the intimate – it is a language for jokes and songs – while Russian is the language for serious matters. This may also be seen in the stereotypical image of the Ukrainian and the Ukrainian language represented by Verka Serdiuchka, in which Ukrainian is associated with entertainment, comedy, and music.

PAST BECOMES PRESENT: THE NATION AND INDEPENDENCE

The way the students refer to the Russian language in the interviews also reveals the mixed identities and complex historical legacies in Kharkiv. The interviewees describe Russia as part of the borderland in which they have grown up. Furthermore, the Russian language is seen as an inherent part of life in Kharkiv. For instance, one student found it hard to describe the Russian language because it is so “normal.” The Russian language is thus portrayed as both a historical and a natural part of Kharkiv, as well as of the students’ personal histories.

“For me, the Russian language is native. I understand Ukrainian, but I am Russian. For me, Russian is like a native tongue, closer [to me]. My whole family is Russian. For me, it is much easier to speak in Russian than in Ukrainian.”
(Student, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

This aspect of the language issue is also often related to the representations of a Slavic brotherhood or a unity among Ukrainians and Russians, as well as Belarusians, and here the Russian language has become one of the most important factors uniting them. In this scheme, the breakup of the Soviet Union is perceived negatively. However, these standpoints were rare among the students; this was rather related to some sense of a bond with relatives in other former Soviet republics.

“Our relatives… when they were divided, Ukraine went to one side, Russia to another, and it ended up so that some of our grandmothers, aunts, and uncles found themselves in Russia, some in Belarus, and some in Ukraine. And how is it possible to speak only in Ukrainian? Our relatives do not understand that at all. They watch television when they come to visit us, and they understand nothing and laugh. For them [Ukrainian words] are comic… I don’t understand how it is possible to take away the Russian language, it is an international [language].”
(Student, Choreography, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

This quotation could also be seen as reproducing the aforementioned distinction between Ukrainian as a backward peasant language and Russian as an international language.
On the other hand, the concept of Russification was also an issue among the students, but quite rarely mentioned straightforwardly. Rather, it was expressed more implicitly, as in the quotations above, in which the Ukrainian language is talked about as “our native” language that “we must not forget.”

“Most of all, the policies of Russification have been influential. I believe that the Ukrainian people must speak in the Ukrainian language, i.e., that is our native tongue. We must not forget it. We must serve as an example that there is no way one can forget one’s culture.”
(Student, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

In the minds of some of these students, supporting the language is a way of securing independence, but one of the current problems is that Ukrainians do not know “what to do with this independence.” There is also an interesting point made here in relation to the position of Kharkiv as a city between Russia and Ukraine, and between the past and the present. Ambivalent attitudes to independent Ukraine may be frequently encountered here.

“I believe that it is worth learning the Ukrainian language. It is worth talking about it. It all goes gradually. The Ukrainians wanted independence, they got it, and now what are they going to do with it? Yesterday the [Soviet] Union still existed, and today we all… people are just frightened. And we just don’t understand how to deal with that blessing. They wanted [it], but then what? It would have been good if we were independent, and [now we are] independent, but what now?”
(Student, Museum Management Studies, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

Besides, a separate language may create a feeling of individuality and is thus an important part of the construction of an identity and a positive self-image. It is therefore claimed that the Ukrainian language is vital to the Ukrainian state, for an independent country should have its own language. In several of the interviews, Ukrainian culture and history are clearly linked to language and this is again linked to independence. Both the quotations below point to the Ukrainian state and the need for a separate language embodying Ukrainian culture and history. In the second quotation, the student also points out that no language but Ukrainian can be the national language, but she also takes into account the actual situation: people may speak Russian, Ukrainian, or surzhyk.

“I would say [that language] is the most important [for the Ukrainian state]. It is our culture, history… in general our mentality is in our language… Ukraine is delineated by borders, but nobody can see them, they are nothing. But language sets [Ukraine] apart.”
(Student, Department of Radiophysics, Kharkiv National University, 16 October 2003)
“If the state already exists, then it is necessary to develop its language, because it is an indispensable part… [There is] an independent Ukrainian state with a history, a culture, and a language. Whether we talk in Russian, Ukrainian, or the mixture surzhyk, pure Ukrainian will always pass for the national [language].”
(Student, Choreography, Kharkiv State Academy of Culture, 22 October 2003)

A quest for uniqueness – having or being something that would set them apart from everybody else – is one reason why some of the students consider the Ukrainian language so important. Among symbols of distinctiveness, language is regarded as one of the most important and visible elements that create cultural borders. As Thomas Hylland Eriksen points out, “[u]nlike a national flag, a shared language is not a mere arbitrary symbol of unity. It is a vehicle of communication and thereby creates group boundaries more efficiently than any other identity marker.”^[36] Having a distinct, separate identity based on features that are regarded as truly Ukrainian is interpreted as vital for a young state (which is how some students see Ukraine), and this separate identity can be found in the Ukrainian language.

CONCLUSIONS: THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE CURRENT LANGUAGE SITUATION IN KHARKIV

Some of the issues relating to the legacy of linguistic stereotypes and self-images discussed in this article are illustrated in the following table compiled from our interviews. It was possible for respondents to choose among several alternatives, and therefore the data reveal conflicting perceptions both in relation to one of the languages, as well as between the languages. Some characteristics reveal that there are great differences in perceptions of the two languages, while others do not. On the one hand, the table demonstrates some “old” linguistic stereotypes. On the other, it also shows how there might be tendencies toward a reorientation of the relative positions of the two languages. Thus, the balance in the perceptions of Ukrainian and Russian has not been redressed yet, but the data might indicate the direction of changes.

TABLE 1. PERCEPTIONS OF THE UKRAINIAN AND RUSSIAN LANGUAGES ^[37]

<img src=http://abimperio.net/pics/sov-fil.jpg>

The perceptions of the Ukrainian language go in two opposite directions, reflecting both its previous and contemporary status. It is associated with the rural population and the old generation but, paradoxically enough, also with the authorities and the educated. This means that the respondents engage both with old stereotypical perceptions of the Ukrainian language, as outdated and old fashioned. Simultaneously, though, the new status of Ukrainian as a state language has paved the way for its perception as the language of the political and intellectual elite. In particular, it is interesting to notice in a city like Kharkiv, where academia and education have been firmly linked to the Russian language, that Ukrainian, more so than Russian, is considered the language of the educated. Consequently, these associations allow for a positive self-identification with the Ukrainian language. It is also clear that there is one role – the patriot – that is associated only with the Ukrainian language. In this sense, the Ukrainian language performs the important function of being a link to the nation or showing loyalty to the state. Based on our interviews, we can assume that “patriot” is here taken in a positive sense. The Ukrainian language is also seen as a beautiful and melodious language. This is a rather common stereotype based on the notion that the Ukrainians “like to sing,” or are “excellent singers.”
Moving on to associations with the Russian language, we find some expected traits related to the general role and status of Russian throughout the times. Russian is associated with the urban population and the young generation and is seen both as the language of everyday life (home language) and as an international language. The latter may account for why it is regarded as more prestigious than Ukrainian, a theme touched upon in one of the quotations. Otherwise, there are not very great differences in the degree to which certain characteristics were associated with one or the other language. Interestingly, both languages are equally associated with the past. Even though it is not a very high percentage, Ukrainian is slightly more associated with the future, and this may be seen as a new tendency.
In Kharkiv, the Russian language has multiple functions. It serves as the language of everyday interaction, and to a great degree, it constitutes a powerful element of the local identity. Furthermore, Russian is regarded as the language of inter-Slavic communication, related to two different dimensions: a personal one with relatives outside Ukraine, and an ideological one, consistent with the rhetoric about Slavic brotherhood (and in some sense a contemporary version of the imperial rhetoric of the Russian Empire and Soviet Union, in which the Russian language served as the international language). Conversely, the Ukrainian language has acquired the function of representing the independent Ukrainian nation and state. In this regard, fluid identities, actualized in accordance with levels of interaction (regional, national or international), accentuate the significance of a language that has to represent these identities. When the level of interaction shifts from the local to the national to the international level, one may observe a shift in how the emphasis moves from the Russian to the Ukrainian language as the symbol of the Ukrainian nation.