In the wake of Russia’s launching of its Ukraine War, an estimated 150,000+ young Russians have fled the country for Georgia, the Baltics, Turkey, and elsewhere in Europe. We talked to a few who, for reasons they explain, have stayed in Russia.
Think back to when the news was coming in from all sides that everyone was leaving Russia. What did you think/feel?
For me, there never was a time like that. I didn’t really know any of the people who were leaving, so it didn’t bother me. One person I knew left, and that made me sad. But he’s back already.
Why did you stay?
I had no plans to leave. Now and again various thoughts on the subject would surface, but basically because of the news. When you start listening to yourself, you realize that you really have no reason to leave. I’ve traveled a lot, and wherever I went, it was always because I had an inner drive or desire to go. I don’t like doing things when I’m weak or under duress. I have my own plans, and they’re tied to Russia.
Do you feel that was the right decision? Why?
Right now, YES. That’s just the way I feel. I want to act on my own plans, and that’s what I want to follow.
Do you have any plans going forward?
It’s less of a plan than a conglomeration of ideas. I’ll continue working for the same company, remotely. I find the work interesting because it gives me room to maneuver. If worst comes to worst, I always have the option of going somewhere else. Argentina, for instance. I’ve been there; it’s a hospitable country. Maybe I’ll take Argentinian citizenship one day.
I thought how fast people were getting themselves together and leaving, like Kozhemyako, our former governor. He even abandoned his things and left Sakhalin for a better deal. That’s how people have run away in this situation. It was hurtful, what was happening. But I can’t judge either – is it a strong or a weak person who runs away? I don’t have an answer for that.
I’ve never thought of leaving. Earlier, I might have wanted to emigrate, but that was before and had nothing to do with how things are now. I stayed because my parents are here, and I feel that my role is here, as a daughter and as a mother to my children.
Sooner or later, wars end. I’ll wait here, where I live, for it to be over.
Only to wait for it all to end and learn to live in the new normal.
I wouldn’t say that “everyone’s leaving Russia.” I watched a lot of my acquaintances relocate in the first week or two after the special operation began. I had mixed feelings about it. With some, it looked like a desperate thing to do, but I understand them, given the powerful emotional stress and resentment toward what was going on inside the country. With others, it looked like a calculated and rational decision. It seems to me that the latter are in the majority (in my social circle, at least). Back then, I was feeling ambivalent.
I’m not one to make hasty decisions when things are uncertain. Especially given that my current situation wouldn’t allow me to leave on the fly. Plus, I didn’t even have my passport yet.
It’s less of a decision than an enforced prolongation of my stay in the current situation.
First and foremost, pulling together and supporting family and friends, searching for an inner foothold. The main thing now is not to isolate myself. And then play it by ear.
At first I had a lot of anxiety. The rug had been pulled out from under me. To me, there was no question of taking off, because I’d already had the emigration experience. And it’s complicated. So for me, emigration was the last resort, although I do have dual citizenship. Back in the day, Jews in Germany didn’t want to leave either, and then it was too late. It scares me that this could happen again. Still, I didn’t want to leave in February, and I still don’t.
For me there was no question about staying. I’m home. I want to live in my home. I like it here. When I came back from Israel, I stood on the banks of the Neva and told her, “I’ll never leave you again.” I don’t like the world separating people in Russia into those who have left and those who have stayed. Then there’s the economics of it. Here I have a place to live and freelance work to do. I didn’t want to live in a rented apartment again, where you can be asked to move out at any moment. My parents are old, and so is my cat. But the main thing is that I’m home. Here is where I want to live. A walk across the Troitsky Bridge, with its view of Vasilevsky Island, is a thrilling and a calming thing. This is my home, my country, my language.
I write a lot, including on social media, and now I have to select words and expressions that no one can use against me. And now and again I worry like a crazy person about getting “a visit.” If I left, I definitely wouldn’t be so very fearful. But I really love my home, my apartment, my cat, and I’m enormously attached to what’s around me. I’ve been diagnosed with depression. For me, the number one requirement is to have everything in its place. But emigration is an existential undermining, an undermining of identity, and I don’t want to be tested like that again. To get myself back together in emigration could take several years or a whole lifetime. I’m not prepared to go through that again. I’m a lesbian. And in the LGBT community there’s an unspoken assumption that everyone wants to leave. Everyone’s asking, “When are you leaving?” Everyone thinks that in Europe and the United States the streets are paved with gold and everything, everywhere, is fine and dandy. But that’s not so. This I know for sure.
First, Covid taught me that plans are awesome but impossible. When Covid was here, my plans were for a maximum of six months ahead. Now they’re for a maximum of two days. I think instability’s lying in wait for everyone. I can’t have a handle on the life around me, but I’ve learned to, and can, have a handle on myself. So this is the plan: stay sane, keep myself safe, and take care of family and friends. And, oh yes, become a great writer, a Russian Hannah Arendt.
I used to be a big history buff. There was a revolution in 1917, and lots of people left then too. Now it’s a rather different situation: some were afraid of being drafted, some left because they couldn’t work any more (media outlets were shut down or blocked because they were writing the wrong thing). At first I was sad, then it started to hurt. People left to sort of test the waters. But I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again in this life. It’s very hard for me to let people go, and that’s why I’m sad. I’ve always understood that it’s logical for people to leave, because some were thinking about it before. It’s just that the situation gave them a nudge.
The main reason I haven’t left is my unpaid debts. I can’t abandon this country. Second, I can’t say that something’s holding me here, but it has a lot to do with my being afraid of loneliness. That’s my main fear. Over the last two months, I’ve realized that it’s one of my very greatest fears. I’m not sure that if I left the county, I’d find friends. If I left, I wouldn’t go to Georgia or Armenia – maybe Turkey or Greece. I’ve seen a lot of how those who’ve left are living. I want a comfortable relocation, but that takes money. And I’m not sure I’ll make enough money. So I can say that I’m staying FOR NOW. But if anything changes, I actually could leave. I want to work in Russia or for Russia. If I leave, I’ll still be working here, just from there.
I don’t know if this is the right decision. After February 24, the word “planning” fell out of the dictionaries. Right now, it’s probably the right decision, but what will come tomorrow or the day after, only God knows. That’s why I’m not sure it ultimately is the right decision.
There are no plans. To live. The main thing is to live, work, and try to make some kind of change. I’m a peaceful person, and it seems to me that nothing can be resolved through protest. I remember history. I’m all for changing everything gradually. To live and work, doing what I can with what I have. To live and to feel more. That’s something I couldn’t allow myself to do before, but now I’ve understood all the importance and value of that. Love always conquers evil.
At first, I didn’t see the point. Because what does it matter where you are? And there, you have to start life over, there nobody knows you, and all your bells and whistles mean nothing. You have to be crazy brave or crazy stupid. A handful will be able to find their feet. There’ll be more who won’t understand what to do and won’t be able to achieve there what they’ve achieved here.
Because no one’s waiting for me over there, and I don’t understand how I’d make a living. I can write and edit in Russian. My English isn’t all that good. There’s my Ukrainian too, but it’s not exactly a world language. My savings aren’t enough to keep myself going at the start. My husband and I have elderly relatives – my grandmother, for example, who’s 80. I can’t allow myself to leave them and just go.
Yes, it’s the right decision. I’m needed more here than there. I won’t be able to help anyone there. And here I can help my family, first and foremost.
There are no plans at all. Any planning horizon has vanished. You go to bed today and when you wake up, you don’t know where you’ve woken up (in what world) and what’s going to happen around you.
I felt panic setting in. And there was a strange, contradictory feeling, that I needed to run away with everyone else, because everybody was running (as if it wasn’t my feeling, and it was a feeling of fear, and I wanted to run away from that feeling), but on the other hand, I didn’t want to do that. Because in my case, that wouldn’t have been the thing to do. First, from the perspective of me as a citizen. And then, after a while, there came the feeling that I had to stay. Then I realized that the fear wouldn’t pass if I ran away, because the fear was because of what was happening in Ukraine. And then it seemed that we’d be right back in 1937. But that was a fear born of panic. The bottom line is that there aren’t any firing squads, for now.
At first it was brain fog and a lot of emotion. Then I got it. I realized that I was, more than anything, responsible for my child. What’s important to him is the life he has here. Then I started listening hard to myself. I went to all the rallies, whenever I could. And on the sixth I was busted again. The police van was full of students, lovely people whose lives had just begun. And every police van holds the same kind of people, so many of them, but they can’t be heard. And I feel the responsibility that I should be here. Not all the good guys have left, but the bad guys have stayed. It’s my responsibility to be here. Going somewhere else would have used up all my mental health. But I’ve stayed home and spent all my free time standing against what’s happening. Going to rallies, putting up posters. And being ready to go to a rally when I could and I was needed. When this regime weakens, we’ll be needed here, to help it go away. I didn’t want to colonize Georgia or Armenia. because others have more need to be there: they’re being persecuted or they’re escaping war. So I don’t want to take somebody else’s place, apartment, or job, since there are people who need it more. This is my country, the place I was born. I have a lot of friends here. No matter where I go, I’ll never find so many who are ideologically close to me.
Yes, for now. I’m of more use here. I’m in nobody’s way if I stay home. I can be more useful while I’m here. For now I’m not complaining.
Plans: To keep my finger on the pulse and be ready for revolution. Anything more specific is impossible in the current situation. The plan is to believe that everything will work out.
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