by Frunze Avetisyan
Every day, somewhere in the world, someone is forced to leave everything behind. Their home, their community, their sense of belonging all vanish in the chaos of conflict. Displacement is not merely a change of location; it’s a deep and painful break in people’s lives, leaving wounds that can last for generations. From the streets of Gaza to the mountains of Nagorno-Karabakh, from the cities of Ukraine to the villages of Sudan, millions face the harsh reality of becoming refugees – turning everyday existence into stories of survival.
In the early hours before sunrise of February 24, 2022, Maryna Hovorukhina became one of these stories. She was awakened by an unusual phone call from her brother – a call that would mark the beginning of her journey from Ukrainian creative professional to a refugee seeking safety in Berlin. “My brother never wakes up earlier than 11 o’clock,” she recalls. “When I saw that he had called me at 6 AM, I realized something bad had happened.”
As news of Russian missiles striking Ukrainian cities flooded social media, panic spread through messaging apps and local channels. “Nobody knew what to do,” Maryna remembers. “We just continued to scroll the news. Then it turned into a panic situation as we already knew that some districts were being bombed.”
Like countless others, Maryna sought safety in a subway station. Despite earlier warnings that pets wouldn’t be allowed in shelters, she took her sick cat with her, only to discover that many others had done the same. “The biggest fear was that they would not let me in with the cat,” she says. “But when I got there, I saw a lot of people with cats and dogs, and everyone was very peaceful. We just waited to see what would happen next.”
The devastating impact of Russia’s invasion quickly became apparent in the numbers. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the conflict has led to one of the largest forced displacement crises in the world today, with over 6․1 million Ukrainians recorded across Europe under temporary protection mechanisms. Germany alone has taken in more than 1.2 million Ukrainian refugees, which makes it one of the leading host countries outside Ukraine’s immediate neighbors.
The displacement crisis, however, goes beyond these numbers. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) reports that approximately 3.7 million people remain internally displaced within Ukraine. Furthermore, women and children make up roughly 90% of refugees, as Ukrainian men between 18 and 60 are generally required to remain in the country.
While these figures may sometimes leave a deep impact on some, others may simply read them and move on. However, behind these figures lie human lives, stories of struggle and survival, and destinies filled with suffering.
At the Documentation Center in Berlin, these statistics transform into personal stories. The center serves as both a museum and research facility dedicated to preserving and sharing stories of forced migration. Dr. Gundula Bavendamm, the center’s director, explains their mission: “We tell a European story of forced migration, which dates back to the beginning of the 20th century, as a modern phenomenon.”
The center faces unique challenges in presenting these sensitive topics. “Displacement and expulsion take place every day around the world,” Dr. Bavendamm emphasizes. “It’s not only history, but it’s very much the present, it’s now. We only have to think about Ukraine since February 2022, about Israel and Gaza, and many other world regions. You can’t so much divide between something that is history and something that will happen in the future – it’s there every day.”
The center’s work goes beyond mere exhibition. They conduct in-depth interviews with displaced people, collecting personal artifacts, letters, diaries, and memoirs that tell the human side of the crisis. “Many of the people who come to us, have those experiences,” Dr. Bavendamm notes. “To deal with them in a sensitive way, to be open to their questions, as well as their suffering, to find adequate answers as an institution—that’s another permanent task.”
One of the center’s unique elements is its “collective diary” – a space where visitors can leave their thoughts and experiences. “It’s like a mirror of the present situation,” Dr. Bavendamm explains. “We have visitors from Ukraine leaving their comments, people sharing their perspectives on current conflicts, and others documenting their family’s historical displacement stories.”
The center’s role in German society is particularly significant given the country’s own history with displacement. “We are talking about 14 million Germans who were displaced as a result of the Second World War,” Dr. Bavendamm points out. “This collective experience was a very important reason why a vast part of the German population was largely positive about the arrival of so many Syrian people in Germany in 2015 and 2016.” This welcoming attitude was repeated in 2022 with Ukrainian refugees, though Dr. Bavendamm observes a shift in public sentiment: “Maybe since about a year or a year and a half ago, the public climate in Germany has changed… We live in times where the attitudes towards refugees have become more restricted.”
The center places particular emphasis on the deep, often overlooked impacts of displacement. “If you are a refugee, you are confronted with all kinds of losses,” Dr. Bavendamm reflects. “You lose family, you lose what you owned, you lose your hometown. But you also lose things, which are immaterial. One very deep loss is the fact that you are not able to speak your mother tongue anymore. For journalists and actually all intellectuals, for whom language is an essential instrument for work, it’s particularly tragic and difficult.”
For Maryna, the journey from that first night in the subway led her to Berlin, primarily driven by concern for her cat’s deteriorating health under the stress of air raid sirens. “He was very stressed because of the sirens. He stopped eating,” she explains. “I went to Lviv first, but there were sirens there too. I saw that he was still feeling very bad, and I was worried about him, so I decided to go to Poland, and then my friend invited me to Berlin. I had never been to Berlin before this.”
In Berlin, Maryna has built a new life while remaining involved in helping others affected by the war. She continues her work with NGOs, although now primarily through video calls. “I miss my offline communication,” she admits. “When I was in Ukraine this autumn, I was very glad to see my colleagues and work with them in person. Looking at a screen instead of people’s eyes is really challenging.”
Despite these challenges, Maryna has found innovative ways to advocate for Ukrainians, particularly focusing on civilians held in Russian captivity. She helped create powerful awareness campaigns, including posters at Berlin bus stops, drawing a contrast between the inconvenience of waiting five minutes for coffee and the harsh reality of those waiting hundreds of days for release from captivity. “We need to talk with people in the language of art,” she explains, “because art always touches people’s emotions and hearts.”
Adapting to life in Berlin has had its own challenges and rewards. Maryna has learned German, passing her B1 exam and continuing to study. “I can communicate in German now,” she says proudly. “Not as fluently as in English, but I can definitely explain myself and handle necessary things like talking with tax advisors.”
Despite the difficulties, Berlin’s diversity has helped her find a sense of belonging. “Berlin is a magical city,” she says. “Everyone here feels like they’re part of this diversity. I really enjoy the people, the city, I enjoy the way they live together. Here, you can be the person you want to be.”
As conflicts continue to force people from their homes worldwide, institutions like the Documentation Center work to ensure these stories are not forgotten. At the same time, people like Maryna demonstrate the resilience of those rebuilding their lives while helping others. These stories of displaced people must be heard as they serve as both warning and inspiration, urging us to build a world where fewer people face the trauma of displacement, and where those who do, could find more than shelter – they could find understanding, opportunities, and a sincere welcome in their new homes.
This article was published within the frames of “Correspondents in Conflict” Project,
implemented by Yerevan Press Club and Deutsche Gesellschaft e. V. The Project is
funded by the German Federal Foreign Office within the “Eastern Partnership Program”.
The contents of this article are the sole responsibility of the implementing partners and can in
no way be taken to reflect the views of the Federal Foreign Office. #civilsocietycooperation
Frunze Avetsiyan is a multimedia journalist with a background from “Hetq Media Factory” and Brusov State University of Yerevan. He specializes in conflict journalism and human-interest stories, currently working at Aliq Media Armenia. His work is dedicated to uncovering and reporting on critical issues, focusing on the human elements within these stories.
