Free Russia already exists

Time to go

The exodus began immediately after the invasion. Tichon Dzhadko, editor-in-chief of TV Rain, Russia's largest independent TV channel, told his editors in Moscow: ‘It is time to go. Criticism of the army is punishable by prison terms of up to 15 years. From now on, journalism is a crime.’

Dzhadko initially thought the laws were just part of a new chapter and not the end. But then he received anonymous warnings about upcoming arrests of journalists. TV Rain's website was blocked, but the arrests never came. ‘To vote Draconian laws and then spread a few rumours is enough to drive us into exile’, says Dzhadko. He moved the entire editorial team to Riga, where ratings actually rose.

There were many chapters of repression, but the end was never written. ‘Look who is on the list’, TV Rain journalist Vladimir Romenskiy had laughingly said a few years earlier. The Justice Ministry had published a new list of ‘foreign agents’ and this time Romenskiy was on it. He had reported on the protests in Belarus in 2020. The repression there then led to a massive wave of emigration. Now Romenskiy is an emigrant himself. When Dzhadko addressed the editors, Romenskiy was on holiday in Georgia. And there he would build his new life.

Many Russians initially tried to protest against the invasion of Ukraine. Daniil Ken took to the streets but was arrested, his house searched and his passport taken away. Asha Suvorova even dared to hang the Ukrainian flag on her balcony. It did not last long. ‘My neighbours demanded that I remove the flag. I cannot live with such people.’ Stanislav Dmitryvsky, a Russian war crimes investigator, was the driving force behind the protest in Nizhny Novgorod. After two arrests for a Facebook post, he fled to Tbilisi to avoid a prison sentence.

But not everyone could turn their lives around. Dmitryvsky's colleague Igor Kalyapin, an icon of the Russian human rights movement, now lives in a remote village in Russia. ‘A human rights organisation should denounce war crimes’, says Dmitrivsky, ‘but in Russia you have to keep silent about the war.’ Igor chose to remain silent. ‘Igor has been a dissident since the Soviet Union, but this war broke him.’

Kremlin follows everywhere

In an office in Tbilisi, a Georgian teacher teaches fugitive Russian activists and journalists. Asha Suvorova is one of them. ‘This is special’, she says after the lesson. ‘Georgians always had to learn Russian, now I teach their language to challenge the colonial Russian mentality.’ Suvorova works at Paper Kartuli, a new medium that brings stories about what Georgians and Russians share.

In turn, Yevgeny Zhukov puts himself at the service of Ukrainians. In Tbilisi, he founded Emigration for Action. In an old house, he stacks medicines for Ukrainian refugees. Outside, the white-blue-white flag of free Russia flies. ‘When we tell Ukrainians where we come from, most respond with: “Fortunately, there are also good people in Russia.”’

For these Russians, exile means rebuilding their lives, continuing to help others, but also dealing with the political repression that continues to haunt them. Because of the fine hanging over his head, Daniel Chebykin could not renew his passport. He was in Yerevan when the Russian authorities now also revoked his identity card, forcing him to seek asylum under the Geneva Convention.

In early February, he also discovered that the Federal Financial Control Service had added him to the “list of terrorists”. This Russian agency fights terrorist financing, but is used against political opponents. Meanwhile, Chebykin's team continues to collect the names of fallen Russian soldiers from the Omsk region as the government keeps this information hidden.

In Tbilisi, Stanislav Dmitrirovsky was working on a dossier for the International Criminal Court, which issued the arrest warrant against Putin. There he learned that the Russian state was preparing a new criminal case against him. His family was pressured to lure him to Russia, where he risks 20 years in prison. ‘But my wife has to look after her elderly father in Nizhny Novgorod’, he says. ‘I read so many books about Russian emigration after the 1917 revolution. Never did I think I would end up in such a situation myself.’ Still, Dmitryvsky continues to gather evidence of war crimes in Chechnya and Ukraine and prepare criminal cases for European courts.

Cultural exodus

The exodus from Russia after the Ukraine invasion was also a cultural exodus, leading to new initiatives in the Caucasus. As Frolova-Kozlova opened Auditoria in Tbilisi, Grigori Karelski founded the book bar Common Ground in Yerevan. Lines of Russian and Armenian poetry are interwoven on the wall. Copies of the new Novaya Gazeta are flying out the door. In Russia, the newspaper is banned from printing, but here it is physically available again.

‘People see it as an artefact from the past’, says Karelski. ‘But Armenians are also interested. Common Ground does not only target Russians in Yerevan, but wants to promote connection between the two groups. In Tbilisi, such a place would be impossible. There is no communication between Georgians and Russians. Armenia is different.’

Communication between Georgians and Russians is exactly what the punk bar Secret Place in Tbilisi wants to encourage. And it does so through punk music. The bar itself really feels like a secret place. The entrance is tucked between two buildings and leads to an atmospheric courtyard, where founder Kirill has hung a banner reading ‘Stand With Ukraine’.

Another entrance takes you to a cramped basement. When the door opens, Kirill's punk band is on stage. ‘All dictators must die’ is written in large letters on the walls. Kirill and his friends have worked hard for three months to transform this downtown building into what it is today. ‘Secret Place is the only reason I'm still here’, Kirill says after the concert. ‘To be honest, I am a pessimist, but here we are creating an oasis in a world full of injustice. We are against war, against fascism, anywhere. We are also against the occupation of Palestine. With those values we unite everyone, Georgians, Russians, it doesn't matter.’

‘Don’t forget the Russians in Russia’

Is there a free Russia outside Russia? Many of our interlocutors do not believe so. We put the question to US researcher Aron Ouzilevski. In recent years, he conducted hundreds of interviews with active Russians who fled authoritarianism and militarism. He knows this historical exodus like no other.

‘I would like to say that the opposition in exile is a great human capital in which Europe should invest, but it does not function as one movement. Navalny's death had a big impact. There is a complete lack of leadership. When you spread an entire civil society across different countries, not only does exile weaken you, but it also divides you. The only Russian emigration wave that successfully returned to Russia to bring change was that of the Bolsheviks who initiated the Communist revolution. They were united behind one leader and one vision.’

So has Putin won?

The Navalny collaborators think not. Daniel Chebykin makes an impassioned speech about why he continues to make news for his own country in exile. ‘The hundreds of thousands of participants in Navalny's protest marches and all the people who laid flowers in the streets at his death have not disappeared. They are simply silent, out of fear. Navalny was the first opposition leader to make the idea of Russia as a normal country realistic. The man can die, but the idea cannot.’

Daniil Ken has proof that there are many of them. Navalny’s YouTube channels have a combined 6.5 million followers and reach 10 million unique viewers in Russia every month. ‘Our videos will not topple Putin, but they have caused problems in the recruitment of soldiers’, says Ken.

Vladimir Romenskiy also tries to uncover hidden facts about recruitment with his broadcasts for Echo of Moscow. ‘Recruitment happens mostly in disadvantaged regions. Thousands of people see war as their only way out. They are lured with high sums of money, but many die or return with PTSD, or end up in family violence and crime.’