9. The Language

“You could call it Odesan,” says Yan when I explain that I don’t speak Ukrainian, but a little Russian. Odesan language, then Odesan language. Sounds pretty cool. It’s the beginning of March 2023, and another student party is about to start. As the electricity goes out, young people start chanting “Putin khuylo!” - “Putin (is a) dickhead!”

Although there is no doubt about the young Odesites’ mentality, I have already noticed that Russian is still spoken predominantly, and no one seems to be really bothered by it. This impression is also deepened when visiting local bars and restaurants. With a few exceptions - Ukrainian national restaurants - communication is in Russian. Only the menus are in Ukrainian.

In shops, this also seems to be the case - what is written is in the official language, Ukrainian, but verbal communication tends to be in Russian. However, this impression in itself can be deceptive: in the more upmarket Silpo, the sales staff are sure to speak Ukrainian to everyone, as the law requires, whereas in the more blue-collar chains, this is not necessarily the case, and the salesperson will automatically start a conversation with the customer in Russian, sorry - Odesan.

This is the situation in early spring 2023, one year after the start of the full-scale invasion. By the second half of July the same year, after breaking the grain deal, Russia targets Odesa with missile and drone strikes. This is done with true Russian precision, resulting in the destruction of residential buildings and the Transfiguration Cathedral, which is under the jurisdiction of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate. Most importantly, this attack strikes at the heart of Odesa’s identity, challenging the role of the Russian language as a cornerstone of the city’s culture.

While this observation may be somewhat subjective, there is a trend where the missile attacks, the prolonged war in general, and the Ukrainian state’s efforts to promote the Ukrainian language and identity are gradually and unmistakably making the entire country more Ukrainian.

Odesa is clearly one of the flashpoints in this language struggle. Not only is the city predominantly Russian-speaking, but one can also hear a wide range of opinions about the mentality of its inhabitants. Certainly, one should not believe the Russian propaganda as if the average Odesite is expecting some kind of Russian ‘liberator’. But the fact is that it is precisely on the language issue that many indigenous Odesites (who are the bearers of the local ‘Odesan language’) would like to be left alone.

But they will not be left alone. Many of those who have spoken Russian for generations in their homes and families also want to shed what is increasingly perceived as a burden.

So, a local friend tells me about language immersion groups that have spontaneously sprung up on social media, where people meet either online or in person to learn and practice Ukrainian. There are also active civic associations promoting Ukrainian in the city, whose pedagogical techniques are both creative and straightforward.

For example, one group combs through Odesa’s service establishments, shops, and cafes. When they discover a place where not only is the official language not spoken, but the staff is also reluctant to speak it, they organize a theatrical raid, poetically insulting and ridiculing the staff while filming the action. Of course, this material then migrates to social media outlets.

Another group, led by a veteran of the 2014 Odesa clashes and the subsequent war, takes a more direct approach. When they hear Russian language music playing from a car radio or from a cafe door or window, they approach and ask, often in an aggressive tone, what is going on. If they are dissatisfied with the response, verbal violence ensues, including threats of physical harm.

This behavior persists to the extent that individuals are pressured to change their behavior while being recorded. It is not uncommon for these citizen activists to locate the residences of those who violate language laws and, again while recording, intimidate them in their own homes. They demand - and mostly receive - promises to speak Ukrainian, respect the constitution and the language law, and so on, all captured on camera. Sometimes, a report detailing the language offense is also posted on the internet, including the person’s work and home address, along with other personal details.

In short, the methods are brutal. Accordingly, they are generating conflicting opinions in Odesa. However, it is not wise to oppose such activities too loudly, because often the victims are not far from being really pro-Russian, which in itself can attract the attention of much more serious, state-run organizations than a few self-styled linguistic enthusiasts. And so it has indeed happened: in many cases, those who have flouted the language law have spoken out not only in defense of the Russian language but also against Ukrainian statehood.

I would conclude that the situation in 2024 is more tense than in the spring of 2023. I myself have felt that in some restaurants and shops, people frowned upon me when I spoke to the waiters in Russian, so I have now started to speak Ukrainian instead - even if very badly. Of course, this kind of frowning does not occur everywhere, but I have the feeling that it is more common now than a year ago.

Odesa is unlikely to become a fully Ukrainian-speaking city in the near future, but there is a perceptible move away from what was previously a distinctly Russian-speaking city towards a more Ukrainian-speaking one. Here, perhaps, the brutal missile attack on the night of July 22, 2023, as well as a more recent one on the morning of March 15, 2024, will play a key role, forcing Odesites to think more about who they really are and who they really want to be.