By plane, train or car, they left suddenly, with a suitcase for all the luggage. Since the beginning of the invasion of Ukraine, which was decided by Vladimir Putin on February 24, many Russians have left their country. However, the war and its bombardments were thousands of miles away from their daily lives.
Some, however, feared an economic crisis caused by Western sanctions imposed on Moscow. Others fled government repression. Foreign nationals who raised families in Russia made the same choice, following the recommendations of their governments.
A Frenchman and four Russians tell FranceInfo why they chose exile, uprooting their families or leaving them at home.
Nikita, 26, exiled to Paris: “I didn’t want to risk being mobilized”
“When the war started, I found myself in constant anxiety. In Russia, the prospects were no longer very good for the liberal like me. My girlfriend is French, I studied in Europe and worked for an American company in St. Petersburg. Even if I’m not an activist, my plans in the more or less long term were to find a job abroad and move. No urgency.
The invasion of Ukraine changed everything. I understood that the borders could be closed, that the Russian economy would be hit hard, that censorship would reach unprecedented levels… First of all, I didn’t want to risk being mobilized for the war in Ukraine. When the authorities closed down the last independent radio station in Moscow, my father told me: “You have to go.”
“The authorities have shown in a few days that Russia has become a hostile country for people who hold views like mine.”
European airspace was already closed to Russian aircraft, and many foreign companies stopped serving our country. Fortunately, there are only 200 km between St. Petersburg and Finland, where I have friends. I was lucky with the Finnish visa. On March 5, I took the remaining euros, put my computer and clothes in my backpack, and took the train to Helsinki. The first thing I did when I left the station was to oppose the war in Ukraine.
Demonstration against the war in Ukraine, March 5, 2022, Helsinki (Finland). (MIKKO STIG / LECHTIKUWA / AFP)
Now I have joined my girlfriend in Paris. I live with her, but money will quickly become a problem: without a residence permit, I cannot look for work in France. I wish I could go back to Russia one day when Putin is no longer in power. But it is impossible to know when this will be possible.”
Vlad, 50, exiled to Paris: “We couldn’t risk being in prison”
“Life in Russia became more and more dangerous for my family. I am a documentary producer and my wife is an activist and theater actress.doc [un théâtre indépendant critique du Kremlin]. When we saw that the repression against the opposition was intensifying, that the police were going to knock on the doors of demonstrators against the war, we decided to leave the country. We have a 12 year old daughter and an 18 month old son, we couldn’t risk going to jail.
“Vladimir Putin’s regime has shown its true nature: it is moving more and more towards dictatorship. I did not want my son to grow up in a country where he is taught state propaganda in school.”
Miraculously, we managed to get an emergency visa for my son. On March 7, we left, leaving everything: an apartment in Moscow, a car, things … We took only what fit in four suitcases and boarded a flight to Istanbul.
This is a new reality that is difficult to adapt to. Fortunately, I have friends in France who helped us get to the Paris area and can give us shelter for a while. But there are still many steps ahead: open a bank account, see how I can work here … Maybe later we will move to another place or someday it will be possible to return to Russia. At this stage, it is impossible to project yourself. At least in France my family is safe.”
Nigina, 38, exiled to Istanbul: “Now this suitcase is my whole life”
“Before the conflict, I never thought about leaving Russia. As a freelance journalist, I have worked with several independent national and foreign media: Russian is my working tool. But in early March, we learned that the censorship law had been voted on. It prohibits the use of the word “war” in relation to the invasion of Ukraine. If we do this, journalists and citizens face up to 15 years in prison.
“I realized that I can no longer freely practice my profession in Russia. The day before the adoption of the law on censorship, I left the country.”
Plane tickets were all ten, twenty times more expensive than before. I managed to find a flight to Uzbekistan, then I went to Turkey. I took a suitcase with a camera, a computer and some clothes. This suitcase is now my whole life. When I left, I didn’t realize that I was leaving everything behind. I do not know if I will be able to return to Russia, where my mother and sister are staying, and when. Even as I say these words, I still can’t get over the idea.
There are rumors that the government may prevent the return of the Russians who went into exile because we are “traitors”. It seems unthinkable, but just a few weeks ago an invasion of Ukraine seemed unthinkable… We are not refugees or expatriates. But I can’t complain. Unlike the Ukrainians, I did not leave my country to escape the bombs.”
“I want to see my family again,” a demonstrator says during a rally against the war in Ukraine on March 2, 2022 in Istanbul, Turkey. (MEHMET ESER / ANADOLU AGENCY / AFP)
Yanna, 32, exiled to Nice: “I left for fear of being stuck behind a new Iron Curtain”
“Until the last minute, I wanted to stay in my country. Part of my childhood I lived in Europe, but I returned to study in Russia, and then made my career there, creating the country’s first short film production agency. “I wanted to help young filmmakers. For several years now, I have watched the censorship against culture worsen. Those who criticize the government are blacklisted: they are not given funding or distribution. And because I collaborate with some of these filmmakers. I know that I’ve been exposed [à la nouvelle loi].
When the war started, I still thought that I would stay in Russia to work on these projects. My father, who is Ukrainian by origin and lives in Kyiv, called me in the early days of the offensive and said: ‘Now we have to leave because the borders will be closed and I won’t be able to talk to you anymore’. To help.’ I left, fearing to get stuck behind another iron curtain. Fortunately, I had a tourist visa for the Schengen area. On March 4, my friend and I flew to Turkey.
“It took me eight hours to find a plane ticket for less than a thousand euros.”
One day in Istanbul it became known that Russian bank cards would soon stop working abroad. We went out in the middle of the night to try and empty our accounts. Between the withdrawal fee and the exchange rate, we lost just over half of what we had.
I am very lucky because my family has a house in Nice. I have moved here for the time being, and my mother stayed in Russia with her disabled grandparents. My biggest fear is that this war will prevent me from returning for a long time and that they will die while I am away from Russia.”
Paul*, 36, with his family in Var: “We left with three suitcases, three backpacks and a cat”
“For eight years I was a French teacher in Moscow. It was there that I met my wife Anna*, with whom we have a five-year-old son. After the first friction on the border with Ukraine, we thought about the idea of going to France. In case of war, we did not want to stay in the aggressor country. On the morning of the invasion of Ukraine, we woke up with a mixture of bewilderment and pain.
We left because we were afraid. Fear of war, reprisals against independent media, economic collapse, social media shutdown (and with it our access to our relatives in France and Western sources of information), fear for justice…
“We were afraid of the future that awaited our son.”
I spent the next days dealing with administrative procedures. I am French and my wife had a Schengen visa, but the procedure for getting my son’s passport had to be expedited. On the morning of March 11, we left by car with three suitcases, three backpacks and a cat. We crossed the border with Estonia on foot, then by another car we drove to the house of a former student. From there we were able to board a plane to France.
For my wife, leaving everything behind is a real grief. In Moscow, we had a comfortable, petty-bourgeois life. Here we have nothing: no property, no money, no work. But we had the luxury of choosing to leave Russia. By our standards, this means starting from scratch. However, we know that we are very lucky because our families can help us. This is disproportionate to what Ukrainians are going through: those who flee the war in their country have lost everything, including loved ones.
*Names have been changed.