By Galina Korol | 2025-11-07

It's morning in Prague. The subway hums with Ukrainian voices, a chorus of people rebuilding their lives. At corner cafes, Ukrainian baristas pour cappuccinos for commuters. Others lift beams on construction sites, care for patients in clinics or teach in local schools.

All of them are helping power the economy of a country that, in just a few years, has become their second home.

In the first half of 2025, Ukrainian refugees gave back more to Czechia than they received in aid.

Data from the Czech Ministry of Labor and Social Affairs shows that those with temporary protection contributed 15 billion crowns (almost $712 million) to the national budget through taxes and fees.

In return, the state allocated 7.6 billion crowns (about $360 million) for support, covering humanitarian payments, housing, medical care and education.

This fiscal phenomenon isn't new. In 2024, for instance, revenues from refugees reached 24.8 billion crowns (some $118 million), compared to 15.5 billion (about $74 million) spent on assistance.

Some opposition politicians call for a revision of the conditions under which refugees can stay in the country, but the government emphasizes that Czech employers oppose strict requirements because Ukrainians work in key sectors facing labor shortages.

"If these people quit their jobs and leave the country, a large part of the economy would be in big trouble. This includes industry, services, and agriculture," Labor Minister Marian Jurečka said in a September 26 interview with ProUkrainu.cz.

Many Ukrainians arrived in Czechia not seeking state aid, but rather a chance to survive and protect their children.

As of late October 2025, more than 395,000 Ukrainians hold temporary asylum in the country. Among them, 169,000 are employed, 93,000 are children and teenagers, and nearly 17,700 are seniors aged 65 or older.

Escaping the occupation

Valentina Pavlyuk, a mother of four and wife of a Ukrainian service member, recalls the chaos of the full-scale invasion that caught her family in Bucha, near Kyiv.

"We left literally two hours before Bucha was occupied," she told Kontur.

A timely phone call from Czechia changed everything.

"Before the war, I was in Czechia for rehabilitation courses. When it all started, the head of the rehabilitation center just called me and said, 'Grab your kids and come. There will be work. We'll help with everything we can,'" Pavlyuk explained.

The early months were tough. She relied on initial assistance -- about 2,800 crowns (about $130) per adult and 2,400 per child -- which barely covered food.

"My salary was around 24,000 [some $1,140], and I had to pay about 18,000 for the apartment.... So, for about 5-6 months, I definitely received help," she said, noting that survival would have been impossible without it.

Today, Pavlyuk has found her footing. She works as a physical therapist in a clinic and has launched her own aerial yoga studio.

She pointed out that nearly everyone she knows is working, including mothers with young children who form small cooperatives.

"One or two sit with the others' children, while the other goes to work. The next day they switch," Pavlyuk said.

Even retirees seek extra income.

"These pensioners try to go somewhere to clean a space to earn crowns, because the state assistance is enough only for food, not for rent," Pavlyuk observed.

Already fluent in five languages, she added Czech as her sixth.

"My brain was just exploding, because after an 8-hour workday where you are constantly communicating in Czech, you also go to classes where you communicate in Czech, and you come home and have just white noise," she recalled.

Her challenges extended beyond language: a conflict with a Russian woman in class led to her withdrawal.

Pavlyuk pushes back against Czech critics who claim Ukrainians live off public funds. Such statements echo Russian propaganda that falsely depicts Ukrainian refugees as welfare burdens causing economic strain.

"I reply, to have what I have, I work 12 hours a day. If you wanted it, you would live the same way," she said, adding that colleagues often defend her community.

"The Czechs who have worked with me, for example, always said when their friends started to attack Ukrainians, 'All the Ukrainians we know pay taxes. All of them work and don't take anything.'"

In her eyes, the 15 billion crowns in revenues prove they've "repaid it all with interest."

Psychology of survival

Kharkiv native Alisa Filchakova fled to Czechia due to the war and now works in Prague as a psychologist for AMIGA, an organization offering psychological and intercultural support to migrants. She witnesses the employment realities firsthand.

When asked if finding work was hard, Filchakova told Kontur, "There were no difficulties because it's just my job. I love it, and I know how to do it well." She briefly cleaned apartments for extra cash before securing her role as a psychologist.

Initially, Filchakova worked solely with Ukrainians, sidestepping language barriers. But professional growth brought changes.

"I now have to not only work with clients, but the organization also sends me to various workshops, conferences, and events, where I have to represent our organization, and I have to do this in the Czech language. That's why I am now forced to learn it," she said.

As a psychologist, Filchakova hears countless stories of Ukrainians bolstering the Czech economy.

"Most people want to work and do work. True, not in the same positions as in Ukraine, because of the language and diploma re-certification here. But they still try, because they need to live and not rely on humanitarian aid."

Her clients range from mothers to college students and young professionals.

"There are college students who came on their own, without their parents. They have to fully support themselves and also study. This is probably one of the most serious categories," she noted.

These young people frequently exhibit emotional burnout during sessions, yet they persevere despite the exhaustion.