Ukraine scientists fight brain drain
Those who stay see working amid war as act of defiance
Many Ukrainian scientists are continuing their research and teaching even amid Russia’s war. A report published in April said Ukraine’s Ministry of Education and Science estimated that 4,000 to 6,000 scholars had already left Ukraine but around 100,000 remained. Ukrainian scientists are appealing to international institutions for remote work opportunities as well as access to journals, datasets, archives and other materials.
But they also say they want to prevent the war from resulting in a long-lasting exodus of talent that will be needed to rebuild Ukraine’s institutions after fighting stops. As one scientist put it, “We don’t want the war to result in a brain drain from Ukraine.”
Anton Vlaschenko often hears shelling outside his office in Ukraine’s second-largest city of Kharkiv, not far from the front lines of the war. He sometimes even sees smoke rising from Russian tanks hit by missiles.
But the 40-year-old zoologist continues his work, dissecting and labeling bat tissue, as he probes the disease ecology of the flying mammals. When news of the war overwhelms him, he says, it helps to have something familiar to do with his hands. He also sees it as an act of defiance.
“Our staying in Ukraine, our continuing to work — it’s some kind of resistance of Russian invasion,” Vlaschenko said via Zoom, a barrage of shelling audible in the background. “The people together in Ukraine are ready to fight, not only with guns. We don’t want to lose our country.”
His resolve isn’t unique. Like other Ukrainians whose labors aren’t essential to the war effort, the scientists and academics want to continue their important work where they can.
A common refrain is that they want to stay connected to their scholarly community, which provides a shard of normalcy amid the chaos and violence, and “keep the light of Ukrainian science and humanities alive,” said Yevheniia Polishchuk, who teaches at Kyiv National Economic University.
As vice chair of the Young Scientists Council at Ukraine’s Ministry of Education and Science, Polishchuk organized an online survey of academics to assess their situation and needs after the Feb. 24 invasion. An estimated 4,000 to 6,000 scholars had left
Ukraine by early April — mostly women with families — but about 100,000 stayed.
Most who went abroad wound up in Poland and elsewhere in Eastern Europe, getting temporary positions at European institutions. Some scientists have received grants from the Polish Academy of Sciences, U.S. National Academy of Sciences and other organizations. Polishchuk, now in Krakow with her children and husband, is a visiting professor at a university for May and June but says she hopes to return to Kyiv when fighting stops.
While Ukrainian scholars are appealing to international scientific bodies for assistance, there is also a will to prevent the war from permanently sapping talent and momentum from the country’s academic and
professional ranks.
“Most of our scholars do not want to move abroad permanently; they want to stay in Ukraine,” Polishchuk said.
Shortly after the war began, Ivan Slyusarev, a 34-year-old astronomer, helped the director of Kharkiv National University’s observatory move computers, monitors and other materials into the basement, which had sheltered equipment and historical artifacts when Nazi forces occupied the city during World War II.
The observatory’s main telescope is located in a field in Russia-occupied territory, about 43 miles from Kharkiv on the road to Donetsk. Slyusarev is relying on scientists outside Ukraine to continue his work. Czech astronomers have sent him observational
data from their telescope so he can keep analyzing the properties of metallic asteroids. He also can see data from a small robotic telescope in Spain’s Canary Islands. He operates mostly from a home office on the outskirts of Kharkiv.
Slyusarev, who says he became an astronomer because of “romantic” ideas about the stars, finds refuge in scientific discovery. Astronomy “produces only positive news” and is a welcome respite from daily life, he said.
“It’s very important in wartime,” he added.
Some scholars, like Ivan Patrilyak, dean of the history department at Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, have enlisted. Eighteen months ago, he was hosting a speaker series on the legacy of World War II and lecturing about the Holocaust. Now, he’s with a territorial defense unit in Kyiv.
Vlaschenko, the Kharkiv zoologist, wanted to protect 20 bats in his care from the shelling, so he carried them to his home, a walk of about an hour. It also helped to preserve his research, which couldn’t be easily replaced, even if buildings and labs can be rebuilt after the war.
“All the people who decided to stay in Kharkiv agreed to play this dangerous and potentially deadly lottery,” he said, “because you never know in what areas a new rocket or new shell would hit.”
As he scrambles to record data and safeguard his rare samples, he sees it as part of his mission — “not only for us, but also for science in general.”