Nikolay B.* is a scholar in social sciences and is originally from Saint Petersburg. About a year after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine he and his family decided to leave their home country. After spending some time in a Caucasian country where Russian citizens can stay without a visa, he eventually came to Berlin in July 2025 through the Philipp Schwartz Initiative for Scientists at risk, where he now conducts research as a visiting scxholar at Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. 

Zahra, an IT specialist from Kabul, Afghanistan, came to Technische Universität Berlin in 2018 on a scholarship for afghan students, where she completed her master’s degree. She then returned to Afghanistan and worked in the presidential office. After the Taliban came to power in 2021, TU Berlin brought her back to Germany through its “Bridge-It” program. Today, she works as a development engineer at Deutsche Bahn.

In this interview, they talk about their decision to leave their home-countries, their arrival in Berlin, and what academic freedom means to them. 

Nikolay B., you spent more than 12 years conducting research at Smolny College – a liberal arts program developed jointly with Bard College and Saint Petersburg State University that stood for academic openness and critical thinking. When did you reach the point where you decided to leave Russia?

Nikolay B.: Smolny College was, until around 2020, one of the more “liberal” colleges in Russia. Liberal in the sense that there was still a relatively open exchange of views between students and faculty, and critical thinking and debate were actively encouraged. I made a strong effort to uphold that in my teaching as well, always trying to instill certain values in my students—explaining that war, and violence in general, is a sign of weakness, and that people should be free to hold different opinions and perspectives. From 2020 onward, things deteriorated rapidly, and restrictions increased from all sides.

I was always careful to speak indirectly, to phrase things in a coded way, to avoid naming things too explicitly. But it became increasingly difficult. At some point, Bard College—which is a private U.S.-based liberal arts university—was designated by the government as an “undesirable organization.”

That means you’re essentially advised not to work with it, otherwise you could risk criminal prosecution and conviction for alleged “extremist activity”?

Nikolay B.: Exactly. The only category more severe than “undesirable organization,” incidentally, is “terrorist organization.”

My wife had already expressed, from the beginning of the war, a desire to leave the country for safety reasons, and we discussed it extensively. We were both opposed to the war, but we agreed that staying could still allow us to do something meaningful—by sharing our ideas and thoughts with students and colleagues. Then the mobilization for the front began, and we realized we could no longer stay. We left Russia shortly before a letter arrived in our mailbox that I was being drafted to war.

Zahra, after completing your master’s degree at TU Berlin, you returned to Kabul and worked in the government’s presidential office. How did you experience the Taliban taking power on August 15, 2021 – and what was it like for you to return to Berlin?

Zahra A.: From one day to the next, I was banned from working – like all women in Afghanistan. We didn’t just lose our jobs; we effectively lost all rights to live self-determined lives. Through the “Bridge-It”-program, TU Berlin brought me and other alumni from Afghanistan back to Germany. After a few days in a reception centre in Hannover, I finally arrived to Berlin. But my experience during my master’s and my return could not have been more different. Back then, I came as a fellow; this time, I arrived as a refugee. Back then, everything was exciting and new; this time, I was filled with concern for my country, my family, and my friends. Most of all, I knew then that my stay was temporary and that I could return to my family. Now, I don’t know when – or if – I will see them again.

After your arrival, you began learning German intensively, attended an integration course, and supported IT projects at TU Berlin until you connected with Deutsche Bahn through a TU workshop, where you now work as a development engineer. How has life in Germany been for you?

Zahra A.: At first, finding a job was really difficult, and learning the language was just as challenging. Now I work in a team where only German is spoken. That can be quite demanding at times, but it also helps me improve my language skills.

I don’t really have much of a social life outside of work, though. I do meet up occasionally with others from Afghanistan who came here through the program, but I haven’t formed any close friendships yet. I feel that it’s not easy to really get to know Germans and build friendships with them.

What is it like for you, Nikolay? You haven’t been here that long yet.

Nikolay B.: Many of my friends from Russia were already living in Berlin, so from the very beginning I had something like a stable community. That was very helpful. But my goal is still to integrate more and also make German friends. I very much hope that one day I’ll be part of groups where people don’t speak only Russian or English, but German.

Of course, that requires being able to speak the language, and that’s something I still need to work on.

Is there anything you appreciate about Germany?

Zahra A.: One thing I already appreciated during my master’s studies at Technische Universität Berlin is that Germany has many rules – and people generally follow and respect them. I was also impressed by the quality of teaching. And I like that Germany is such a safe country, and that, especially here in Berlin, people are free to decide how they dress or how they live, as long as they do not infringe on the rights of others.

Nikolay B.: In Germany – or I would say in Western Europe – work-life balance is highly valued. In Russia, you might receive an assignment at 10 p.m. that is expected to be completed by 11 p.m. I have not experienced that here in Germany, and I believe people value their working and private lives more. Beyond that, I really appreciate being able to be who I want to be here and do what I want without it being of concern to others – as long as I also respect the freedom of others.

Both of you come from countries where academic freedom is under threat. In Russia, the Academic Freedom Index stands at just 0.18, and in Afghanistan it is even lower at 0.09—both with a declining trend. By comparison, in Germany it is 0.88, although it is also decreasing. Based on your experiences, what does academic freedom mean to you?

Nikolay B.: That’s a difficult question. I think academic freedom is not fundamentally different from freedom in general – it is the ability to say and do what you think, rather than only what you are permitted to say and do. In academia, that also means being able to communicate freely with anyone, about anything, at any time and in any place, of course with mutual respect and consent, and to conduct research without fearing that those in positions of power will misinterpret or instrumentalize it.

At the same time, I believe one should remain constantly aware of the consequences of one’s research – especially in relation to technologies whose potential is not yet fully understood, such as artificial intelligence.

Zahra A.: Academic freedom means being able to say what you think. Of course, it should be grounded in some form of scientific evidence. But in any case, you should be able to express your views without putting yourself or your family in danger. In Afghanistan, that is not possible – you are expected to simply repeat what the current government says. And if you are a woman, you are not even allowed to study what you want, let alone conduct research or work. That is what is fundamentally going wrong in Afghanistan right now.

*name changed by editors.