At Grade 8 graduation, Ukrainian refugees in Toronto savour a personal victory

Ukrainian refugees comprise more than half of Adriana’s graduating class. The 13-year-old has found Canada to be safe and welcoming, but like the dresses she tries in the library, it doesn’t feel quite right – because it is not quite home.

She came to Canada last March with her mother and two older siblings, first travelling by car to Poland, and then temporarily staying with relatives who live here. Her dad joined the family nine months later, but many members of her extended family remain.

“[Canada] is a beautiful country and the people here are really kind,” Adriana says, before her thoughts turn to Ivano-Frankivsk, the city in western Ukraine she longs for: “I have friends there, and my family there, my house, and my dog.”

Graduation marks a time of celebration and the promise of new beginnings for thousands of students across the country. But for St. Demetrius’s 33 refugees – in a class of 56 students in all – the excitement is mixed with worry about leaving a public school that has become a haven, and with anxiety about when it will be safe to reunite with their families.

Even as she makes new friends and settles into life here, Adriana wonders with each month that passes when she will be able to return. “It’s my land, so I really want to go back.”

In the days leading up to their graduation, Adriana and four of her classmates describe leaving their homes in Ukraine, often without their fathers. Some enrolled at St. Demetrius a year ago in the weeks after the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion last February, while others have been here for as little as six months.

But no matter how long they’ve been gone from Ukraine, they remain tethered to their home. Many have kept up their Ukrainian studies by working on assignments online late into the night, because they hope to return at the same level as those who stayed.

Maksym Babiak, 13, doesn’t want to fall behind. He arrived with his mother and brother a year ago, travelling from Ukraine by bus to Warsaw, Poland, and then flying to Canada. “We have to finish,” he says of his Ukrainian schoolwork.

St. Demetrius’s principal Lily Hordienko says children from Ukraine started enrolling last March, and by April, as many as five arrived daily at the front door. More than 200 students at the school are refugees, and as the student population doubled over the last 15 months, it added eight portables to accommodate the influx.

St. Demetrius is one of three Toronto Catholic District School Board schools with a high concentration of Ukrainian students, and the school is steeped in Ukrainian culture. Both the Canadian and Ukrainian anthems play each morning over the intercom, followed by announcements in both languages. Students receive a half hour of daily Ukrainian instruction. A sign at the front door reads, “Putin: Hands off Ukraine.” “Pray for Ukraine” says another outside the main office.

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Ms. Hordienko says the school community has stepped in to help the new students and their families, especially as some have learned of loved ones who were killed or injured. A section of the library has been transformed into a space where they can access donated food and clothing. In the basement of the church next door, a group of women prepare sandwiches for lunch three times a week. St. John Ambulance, a humanitarian organization that relies mostly on volunteers, brought therapy dogs to visit this month to alleviate some of the emotional distress among the children.

When Ms. Hordienko learned that her graduating refugee students were nervous about the move to high school, she asked a school board child and youth worker to speak to them.

In the session earlier this month, Daria Saverino walked the students through the high school learning experience, speaking a mix of Ukrainian and English: There will be four courses a semester; they’ll have a locker; and they’ll be earning credits toward graduation.

She asked the students what they enjoyed about their time at St. Demetrius. Track and field, answered one student. Another said he’ll miss volleyball. Some are more reflective. “To be able to safely play outside,” said one girl in Ukrainian, as teacher Darya Parzie translated. “The teachers and the students for making me feel at home,” added another.

Ms. Saverino expresses nervousness for this group of graduates and how they’ll do as they move on to a bigger high school, where not as many people speak their language. “It’s very nice that I can do my part this way,” she says of the session, her eyes welling up with tears. “It’s so sad. So much trauma, and things they’ve seen. It’s very sad.”

And yet, she says that she’s impressed by the refugee students’ resourcefulness and letting their needs be known. “They’re not shy to ask. I think they’re going to do okay,” she says.

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