Scientist and human rights activist Alexandra Alissa Novitchkova is 46 years old. She graduated from the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy (KMA) and pursued postgraduate studies. In 2005, she went to Paris to write her dissertation at the School for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences (EHESS) but returned to Kyiv to teach at her alma mater. However, in 2008, she was unable to defend her dissertation in Ukraine due to the lack of a specialized council, corruption, and pressure from a professor.
At the end of 2013, Novitchkova was planning to pursue scientific work in Canada. But these plans were interrupted by the Revolution of Dignity: Alexandra Alissa joined human rights activities and dedicated 8 years to them. Finally, a few weeks before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, she received a scholarship at Toronto Metropolitan University—and in March 2022, she moved to Canada, where she is currently completing her dissertation and teaching political science and creative disciplines. What follows is her story in her own words.
On education
My parents are originally from Russia, but I was born in Kherson in 1979 and consider myself a first-generation Ukrainian. Several generations of my family were engineers. It seemed like a logical path for me as well: I studied at a physics and technology lyceum. Nevertheless, I was always interested in history and deeply studied English and French, which proved useful in the future.
After graduating from the lyceum, I applied to the Kyiv National Linguistic University and, just in case, to the Faculty of Humanities at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. The difference was felt immediately: at the linguistic university, applicants were treated like children, while at KMA, you could feel yourself as an established individual.
My Ukrainian was weak back then: I could read, but I made mistakes when writing. During the entrance exams, I made some funny yet painful errors: I mixed up kidneys and liver on the biology test, so I only got in on my second attempt.
I earned a bachelor’s degree in history. Some of the classes were taught in English, and in my free time, I deepened my French—so after five years, I was fluent in both languages. For my master’s degree, I chose political science. I didn’t plan to work as a political scientist, my dream was to teach.
On exchange studies
After my master’s, I continued my studies in the postgraduate program at Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. Through an academic exchange, I went to the School for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences (EHESS) in Paris. This allowed me to formally remain a postgraduate student while writing my dissertation. In France, I became an auditor of lectures and had access to the EHESS archives. I dedicated my research to Raymond Aron.
Studying in French wasn’t difficult: I understood the lectures, although I didn’t always have time to take notes. I worked as a nanny for the host family: the mother was Australian, so they spoke English and French at home. Thanks to this job, I had housing, food, and pocket money.
People say France is unwelcoming to foreigners, but I didn’t feel any prejudice. The French perceived my habits of calligraphically writing out every word and wearing gloves as signs of an intellectual upbringing. I had friends and a French boyfriend. I was offered the chance to stay in Paris and defend my dissertation there. But I wanted to teach specifically at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, so in 2008, I returned to Ukraine.
On returning to Ukraine
Arriving from Paris, I lived in a dormitory in Vorzel for three years. After France, it was a culture shock. However, the dormitory was clean, tidy, and even had Wi-Fi, which was a luxury in 2008. And living there was much cheaper than renting an apartment in Kyiv.
The defense system was complex and corrupt: the Higher Attestation Commission at Mohyla Academy did not have a specialized council, so I had to defend at other scientific institutions. Formally, this was an “inter-institutional procedure,” but in practice, it meant unofficial expenses: payment for the “organization” of the defense, the council’s work, reviews, and process support. For political science postgraduates, it was particularly expensive—over $3,000, while my salary at the time was only $350. My principles would not allow me to stoop to giving bribes.
In one of the institutions that promised a transparent defense, a professor refused to admit my dissertation, stating that the specialty “Political Philosophy” didn’t exist in Ukraine. This formal argument denied interdisciplinary research as such, effectively nullifying it, as if such an academic practice did not exist at all.
A friend suggested defending my PhD at the Hryhoriy Skovoroda Institute of Philosophy. But then I hesitated: I’m not a philosopher by training and wasn’t sure I could pass the qualifying exams under such high formalized requirements. So, I took a break.
On the Fulbright scholarship and the trip to the USA
In 2009–2011, I earned money through translations and part-time work at KMA. Later, a friend and I applied for the Fulbright Faculty Development scholarship in the USA—and we were both selected among eleven participants from Ukraine. During a year in Kansas, I researched the American model of secularism and developed a curriculum on the theory of democracy in cultural discourse. The academic environment was truly interesting. The center where I worked is currently headed by the well-known Ukrainian historian Vitaly Chernetsky. I returned to Ukraine in 2012 and planned to focus on my dissertation. I corresponded with a professor at a Canadian university about further cooperation. But in December 2013, a more important matter arose: the Revolution of Dignity (also known as Euromaidan) began, and I joined human rights activities.
On the role of a human rights activist
I joined the Euromaidan SOS initiative as a volunteer: together with students from KMA, I worked on hotlines, coordinated lawyers, and helped search for detained protesters in police vans, police offices, and hospitals. We built a network of about 450 volunteer lawyers, which repeatedly stopped illegal searches and arrests. After Euromaidan, I moved completely into the human rights sphere, collaborating with the Center for Civil Liberties and other organizations, and traveling to Transnistria and Eastern Ukraine during the ATO period.
In 2016, I worked in Prague at the main office of the organization People in Need, and in 2018, I lived in Georgia and worked remotely. When the coronavirus pandemic began, I was at a conference in Prague and had to decide: return to Georgia or go to Ukraine? I chose the latter.
Later, I obtained a position as an international advocacy manager at the Crimean Human Rights House, while simultaneously preparing analytical reports for human rights organizations. I decided to apply for a PhD in Canada again: I thought, if I get in—that’s great, if not—I will finally close the university chapter for myself.
On the start of the full-scale invasion
On the eve of the invasion, many foreign journalists were in Ukraine, and tension was palpable. Colleagues advised me to leave, but I couldn’t: I had spent a significant amount of money on renovating my parents' apartment in Kherson and was working. I wasn’t prepared for the invasion. For a while, I lived with a friend in Brovary, and when it became clear that the city could fall under Russian occupation, I decided to leave. That same day, an informal meeting of the UN Human Rights Committee took place regarding Russia’s violations of the Covenant on Political and Social Rights. I participated online from the train station in Brovary: children were running around me, and adults were sitting on suitcases. After that, I went to Kyiv and boarded a train to Chop.
On forced emigration
Initially, I planned to go to France and seek political asylum, as the status of Ukrainians in Europe was uncertain as of February 28. But while traveling, I learned that the European Union had activated the third article of the Temporary Protection Directive. Czech friends invited me to stay with them. There, I received a small scholarship and a studio at the University of Pardubice, where I wrote analytical reports and translated news and standards for documenting international crimes into Ukrainian.
In March 2022, I went to Vienna for an OSCE meeting on violations of international humanitarian law. By then, I already knew I had been accepted for a PhD in Canada, and I was hesitating between an academic career and international advocacy. I applied to Toronto Metropolitan University before the full-scale war—not through special programs, but thanks to a strong dossier: I was the only candidate for the creative industries track. I consulted with a close friend and colleagues, and they convinced me to continue teaching to prepare new specialists—so I set off for Canada.
Currently, it is the final year of my PhD. My dissertation focuses on how Ukrainian women activists perceive the concept of dignity. It includes a creative component: photographs and art installations.
In Toronto, I receive a scholarship that covers tuition and housing, while daily expenses are covered by university teaching and occasional translations. The annual scholarship is 21,000 CAD. Renting a basement studio costs about 1,500 CAD per month, which is exactly what I earn from teaching. To apply for the teaching position, I sent a cover letter, wrote about my teaching philosophy, provided a CV, and an example of my own course—all in English. After a short interview, I was offered the job.
On teaching activities in Toronto
Canadian students are no better than Ukrainian ones, and sometimes they can be less disciplined. I enjoy working most with students in creative fields. In my original course, The Creative Process, I guide them from idea to implementation, discuss the conditions of creativity, overcoming blocks, using modern tools—including artificial intelligence—and teach them to write academic essays and understand creativity as a process of interaction with people and routine work. We work in small groups and exchange thoughts in a general circle: I’m convinced that the teacher and students are constantly learning from each other.
On diversity
Toronto is a metropolis where ethnic diversity is one of the most prominent in the world, so my groups always include students from different cultural backgrounds. Even third-generation Canadians are well aware of their origins, and this fosters openness to other experiences. In Canada, a comparative approach is valued, so I often explain how the same processes work in different countries.
Following some statements by US President Donald Trump, it has become easier for me to explain certain things through political analogies. For example, Russia’s behavior toward Ukraine is as if the US made Canada the 51st state. They haven’t dared to do it yet, but Russia has, and in a very brutal form. It’s important for me not to forbid students from talking about the dark sides of human experience, but to teach them to recognize them, talk through them, and not let them control their own decisions. In Canada, such an approach is acceptable, provided there are clear ethical boundaries. To earn a PhD, one must conduct full-scale research and write an innovative dissertation. No bribes, and no additional “contributions.”
On plans
With a PhD, I plan to look for a teaching position, but I haven’t decided yet if it will be in Canada. I would like to live in Europe. I’m not considering returning to Ukraine at the moment—not because of the shelling, but because of the system: salaries in Ukrainian higher education practically haven’t changed, so to be able to work at a university, one needs to manage many parallel projects.
On the perception of Ukrainians
Ukrainian refugees are often perceived as very privileged. This is noticeable in Europe, as Ukrainians there are mostly women with children, and in many countries, they are supported by the state. Many Ukrainians who previously lived in Europe came to Canada using the special CUAET program: it was relatively easy to get a residence permit, especially if one already had relatives in the country. These simplified conditions did not apply to other refugee groups, which creates a perception that Ukrainians are “the chosen ones.” When people tell me this, I reply that I would very much like there to be no war in my country and for no special conditions for us to exist. After all, most people would never have left Ukraine if not for the war—for them, it was forced migration, not a choice. For some, like people from India, this argument works. But for others, particularly from Somalia, it doesn’t, because their historical and traumatic experience is completely different.
There is another important point: Ukrainians are white. When you explain that Russia is a colonial power and Ukraine is a colony, it often causes resistance and boils down to the reaction: “How is that possible, you’re white?” Most often, this is said by representatives of very privileged classes.
