Russians are leaving again, amid repression, economic strain, Ukrainian drone attacks, and rumors of another wave of mobilization. This time, earlier émigrés have left them a roadmap.

New repressive laws, the economic crisis, increasingly frequent Ukrainian military strikes on Russian cities, and rumors of mobilization are driving more and more Russians to look for a way to leave the country. The independent journalists’ cooperative Bereg spoke with recent emigrants about what finally pushed them to leave, how they see their futures abroad, and whether they expect to return home. Meduza is publishing their stories in full.The subjects’ names have been changed for security reasons.‘My country’s government robbed me of my home, and I can’t go back because things are even worse there’Alexandra22, moved from Moscow to YerevanI lived in Moscow my whole life. I studied at one of the country’s leading universities but dropped out. Afterward, I worked a series of not very interesting jobs as a sales clerk, manager, and administrator.I love Moscow and Russia and didn’t want to leave. I would have stayed if it weren’t for the situation in the country, which has only gotten worse in recent years. When the [full-scale] war started in 2022, I didn’t understand why so many people were upset. I just went on with my life. I honestly thought everything happening around me had nothing to do with me, which seems ridiculous now. But as the years went by and censorship, “extremists,” and “foreign agents” began cropping up everywhere, it became obvious to me that the whole thing was completely insane.Of course, I disagreed with what was happening from the very beginning. For example, I was furious when the authorities designated the LGBTQ+ community an “extremist organization.” Some of my friends and acquaintances are queer. But I think a lot of people, especially in the capital, reason this way: “As long as tanks aren’t driving through Moscow and my home isn’t being bombed, everything’s fine.”The internet shutdowns “woke me up.” It felt like a slap in the face. I couldn’t believe it. I realized that nothing good would come of this — and that I definitely had to leave. My boyfriend also graduated from university that summer, which meant he was at risk of being drafted [for mandatory military service]. We decided to leave in August. I didn’t hear the rumors about possible mobilization until after we moved, and they made me even more certain that leaving was the right decision.My anxiety shot up during the last month before our flight to Yerevan because of the drones. They were reaching the neighborhood where some of my friends and I lived. One night, a friend texted me: “Did you hear the explosion? A drone crashed into the building next door.” I started dreaming that nuclear war had broken out. I lived in a constant state of anxiety.It feels strange to remember that now that I’m in Armenia. It’s a different environment, and you get used to it quickly. We chose Armenia because my boyfriend is ethnically Armenian. I suggested Serbia, which seems more like Russia to me, but Armenia was easier: my partner’s parents are citizens, they know the language, and they can help us. I may be able to get citizenship if we get married.Practically speaking, the move was easier than I had imagined. Emigrating to Armenia — or probably any Commonwealth of Independent States country — means packing your things, buying tickets, arriving somewhere new, and then sorting out housing and paperwork once you’re there.We also benefited from the experience of the first and second waves of emigrants. After talking to people here who left at the very beginning of the war, I understand that they had a much harder time. There wasn’t nearly as much information about relocating online back then. Now social media is teeming with people eager to explain in detail how to move to Kazakhstan, Georgia, Serbia, Armenia, and other countries.Emotionally, however, the move was difficult for me. Our flight was delayed because a warehouse in Domodedovo was bombed that same day [July 20], and we arrived in Yerevan at night. On the way from the airport to the hotel, I looked at the city through the taxi window. The city seemed unbelievably small, with such low buildings. And I love megacities with skyscrapers. Nothing was lit up. Everything around us looked like an industrial zone or a desert.At the hotel, I sat down on the couch and burst into tears because I couldn’t understand how we were going to live here. We moved in July, and it was scorching outside during our first few days. I don’t handle heat well. Everything felt foreign and nauseating, and I didn’t know what language to speak with the locals. I decided that bloggers and emigrants had wildly oversold Armenia and that everything was actually harsh and gloomy. I cried after every unpleasant encounter at the bank or with landlords. I also cried when it hit me that my country’s government had robbed me of my home and that I could no longer go back because things were even worse there.But a few weeks after the move, I slowly began to settle in. We went to [Lake] Sevan and Dilijan. That was where I finally saw Armenia’s natural beauty, which I miss terribly in Yerevan. I had missed the forests around Moscow so much, and when I saw this “Armenian Switzerland” [in Dilijan], I thought, “Wow, we should have moved here.”Then the rains started in Yerevan, the heat eased a little, and I could breathe more easily. Now I’m beginning to notice things I actually like here. There are many kind, hospitable Armenians who want to help you, not just people looking to make money off you. I don’t think I’ll ever love Yerevan more than Moscow, but at least I don’t hate it anymore.I don’t have a job yet. I still have an apartment in Moscow, which I rent out, and I live on that income here. My boyfriend works remotely for a Russian tech company. We also have some savings — money I put aside while I was working.I’ll start looking for work soon. Probably not in Armenia itself, because salaries here are completely out of step with prices. I’m considering working remotely for a Russian company, but Russia’s economy is a ticking time bomb right now. You don’t know whether your account will be frozen or Russia will default. But it’s still better than looking for jobs here.Ideally, I’d like to save some money and start my own business in Armenia, though I don’t know what kind yet. A lot of emigrants here have opened bars, restaurants, salons, and stores, and I think that trend will continue.Of course, I’d like to return to Russia someday. But I don’t know how many years it will take. I find claims that the war will end and everything will go back to normal laughable. I think dealing with the consequences will take a long time.At first, I planned to visit Moscow occasionally to see relatives and friends. But now I realize I don’t want to. Reports of people having their phones searched at the border scare me. I think it’s completely absurd that someone can go through my phone and fine me for things I’ve reposted. I also don’t want to visit and wonder, “Will they close the borders tomorrow? What absurd law will they pass next?”When I read the news from Russia, I know I don’t regret leaving. I worry about my loved ones, but I feel much safer now despite all the difficulties of emigration. It’s so much better to live without tensing up at every noise outside and wondering, “Is that a motorcycle or a drone?”Rumors of another mobilization have pushed some Russians from contingency plans to packed bags. Readers tell Meduza where they’ve fled.‘It’s better to endure the difficulties of emigration than to stay in Russia and learn to live with anxiety’Alexander24, planning to move from Russia to GermanyI trained as an architect in Russia and have spent the past year working in the field. I’d dreamed of moving abroad since I was a teenager because I’d always wanted to live in another country. But I didn’t start seriously considering it until after 2022. When I graduated from university in 2025, I felt that life in Russia was becoming increasingly unsettling — and that it was no longer possible to pretend nothing was happening. It’s hard for me to think about lofty things like art and architecture while living with so much uncertainty and anxiety. What finally pushed me to leave were rumors of a possible mobilization.Everything is now in place for my move. I received a job offer from a German architecture firm and plan to move to Germany soon. When I began my architecture career, I read a lot about different countries and realized that I felt a strong connection to the German school of architecture because of its rationality and respect for architects’ creative vision. That’s why I started learning German in 2022.I still haven’t received a visa, even though I’ve submitted all the paperwork. My anxiety grows every day because relations between Russia and Germany are deteriorating.I’ve been offered a job in a large city in eastern Germany. It feels fitting that it’s roughly the same size and scale as the Russian city where I lived and studied for the past six years. It will be interesting to compare them.I don’t yet know whether I want to stay in Germany for the rest of my life. When I was considering where I could move for work, I looked at the size of the market. Germany is the EU’s most populous country. I’ve also long been attracted to its values: openness, freedom, and a responsible approach to history, the environment, and human dignity. Perhaps in the future I’d like to try working somewhere more “niche,” such as Switzerland, with its incredible scenery. But Germany is the most realistic and, in my view, worthwhile choice.Still, I understand that the job market in my field is difficult everywhere right now, including in Europe. Architects do well when a country’s economy is growing. During downturns like those Russia and the EU are experiencing now, companies put construction projects on hold, and there’s no money for new ones.The field is more developed in Europe than in Russia, with higher salaries and more career opportunities. Europe also has a long history of free markets and a constant exchange of ideas. Open systems always offer more opportunities for people starting their careers and greater respect for architects as the creators of their projects.In our country, by contrast, an official’s authority matters more than an architect’s expertise. Acquaintances have told me that in Moscow, [Mayor Sergei] Sobyanin and the Urban Development Policy Department impose their tastes on architects. It feels like we’re returning to the era of stagnation, when ideological directives were handed down to architects from above. Or even to the Stalinist period and Empire-style architecture.There are fewer and fewer opportunities for self-expression. I’m sure that many people working in creative fields in Russia have considered emigrating, especially over the past year.I feel 100% ready to move. I know I’ll face difficulties as an emigrant, since I’ve never even been to Germany. But after seeing what friends who left have gone through, I think it’s better to endure those difficulties and then live in peace than to stay in Russia and learn to live with constant anxiety.As a teenager, I thought I would leave Russia but eventually return. I had similar thoughts in 2022: I planned to work abroad, build a career there, and return when the opportunity arose. But mounting tensions in the country make my return seem less and less realistic. For now, all I want is to try living and working abroad. I don’t know what will happen there, what I’ll want, or what I’ll think.After reading emigrant forums, I realized that even returning to Russia for a short time carries risks. So if I get my visa and move, I’d rather meet my relatives in a third country. As someone of draft age, I wouldn’t want to return to Russia even briefly.Unfortunately, I don’t believe Russia will change for the better. I think both domestic and foreign policy will only become more hard-line. I don’t see a sustainable way out of the current situation.Hi, I’m Katya.I’ve been running Meduza’s crowdfunding since 2021. Today, supporting Meduza is a crime in Russia. You can be sent to prison just for donating. We’re still able to do our work thanks to thousands of our Russian readers who now live abroad. But even they’re no longer safe. Imagine you’ve left Russia, but then your mom becomes seriously ill. It could be your last chance to see her, so of course you go home. At the border, you’re interrogated. Officers hack into your phone and search for any trace that you’ve donated to Meduza.The Kremlin is counting on that fear, and it’s working. People are afraid to donate. I’m afraid for our supporters, because any one of them could end up in prison. And I’m afraid for Meduza. Without crowdfunding, we simply can’t continue. So if you live outside Russia and don’t have to worry that donating to Meduza could keep you from going home to your family, I’m asking for your help. Please support our work. ‘It moved me to tears that you could just go online and search for whatever you needed’Zhanna and PavelPavel is 27 and Zhanna is 25; they moved from Russia’s Altai Krai to YerevanPavel. In Russia, I worked as an electrician, and my wife was a biologist.I first thought about leaving Russia when the “special military operation” began. At first, I couldn’t believe that military operations were actually underway. I thought most conflicts these days worked like this: countries threaten each other, then back down. Then I was shocked by how many people around us began supporting it, including some of our close acquaintances.Everything that has happened in the country since February 24, 2022, has only made me want to leave more. Every time they banned something you loved, listened to, or read, the resentment built up. Meanwhile, rising prices ate away at everything we managed to earn.I didn’t leave when mobilization was announced because I couldn’t abandon my wife. I planned to hide with relatives in a village, but in the end, I didn’t need to. I found some list online of people who were supposedly going to be drafted. I wasn’t on it, so I calmed down a little. We still don’t know whether the list was real, but it had exactly 300,000 names — the same number of people they wanted to draft.Zhanna. We lived in constant fear in Russia. This spring, we decided we were definitely moving. We couldn’t realistically have done it earlier because we couldn’t afford to. I was only 21 when the war began, and I started working just three years ago. We also didn’t want to leave because nearly all our friends and relatives were still in Russia. Those ties kept us there.Pavel. Our relatives reacted differently to our move. Some supported us, some called us traitors, and some said we were doing something stupid. People said a lot of hurtful things about us that we’d never heard before. But some people were incredibly supportive, even though we hadn’t expected them to be.Zhanna. We considered moving to many different countries, including some in the EU. At some point [in early April 2026], a video appeared in our feed showing [Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan] visiting Moscow and saying that Armenia had unrestricted internet access.For fun, we decided to look up a few things about Armenia and found loads of emigrant chats, checklists, and guides in which experienced emigrants explained the moving process step by step. That was when we realized Armenia was the most realistic option, at least for now. In a year or two, we could consider other countries.We followed the recommendations we found online. Meanwhile, relations between Russia and Armenia were deteriorating — this was just before the Armenian elections. So, to be safe, we arranged powers of attorney, obtained apostilles, and got new passports for international travel, valid for 10 years. We also prepared our cat by having him microchipped and vaccinated and getting him a passport.We moved to Armenia in late August. We really liked the landscape here. We want to find jobs so we can earn enough money to travel and see more of it. Everyone here is also very kind. Bloggers had written about that, but we still weren’t used to locals being so helpful.When we arrived, it moved me to tears that you could just go online and search for whatever you needed. You didn’t have to keep turning things on and off. And it seems like you don’t have to be afraid of the police: At a concert in the park, people can climb a lamppost or a monument, and nobody makes them get down. Children play without a care, and the adults seem happier.Pavel. Armenia showed us that the world really can be free. The internet can work without restrictions. There are no posters [advertising military contract service] or cars with “magic” letters on the streets. It makes you want to read less news, especially news from Russia.Zhanna. We didn’t stay in Yerevan at first, but when we later found a place there and went into the city center, we loved everything — especially the beautiful architecture and the fresh, natural, inexpensive food.For now, we have enough money in savings. We’re both looking for work in our respective fields. Things work differently here: People often don’t answer the phone numbers listed in job ads, so you have to show up in person. Employers here seem to care less about hiring than they do in Russia. But I’ve already had several short interviews for laboratory assistant and junior research positions.So far, Russian has been enough for me even when speaking with researchers. But there’s definitely a language barrier, not just in professional settings but also in conversations at the store.Pavel. Even though I’m an electrician and could be self-employed, I’m not ready to do that here yet. I need to be formally employed so I can get a bank card and a residence permit. In time, I think we might be able to apply for citizenship.I wouldn’t want to return to Russia. Even if the war ends, there would have to be a change of regime, a review of the repressive laws, and an overhaul of the entire system. What scares me most is that people with PTSD will return from the front en masse. I think those who fought in the “special military operation” will bring devastation with them. We already don’t have enough jobs, and the government will give them preferential treatment.Zhanna. I would like to return to Russia because our relatives are there, and that’s what matters most. But I understand that even if the conflict ended right now, the country would need at least a decade to become a decent place again — somewhere you could live without fear.Putin dismisses rumors of another mobilization as ‘nonsense.’ But can Russia keep fighting without another draft?‘Even without mobilization, the authorities will find a way to make my life miserable’Mikhail and AnnaMikhail is 39 and Anna is 30; they are planning to move from St. Petersburg to TbilisiMikhail. I’m ethnically Russian, but I don’t have Russian citizenship because I was born and raised in Kazakhstan. I moved to Russia in 2015 after realizing that all power in Kazakhstan was concentrated in one person’s hands: The cult of [Nursultan] Nazarbayev permeated every area of the country’s politics at the time.I thought that was how dictatorships began and that Kazakhstan might become unsafe within the next few years. So I decided to try living in Russia. I moved to St. Petersburg and started working as a sales manager in the tech sector.At the time, Russia didn’t seem like a dictatorship to me. After all, someone else had briefly served as president, and Medvedev had been more liberal than Putin. Even after Putin became president again, I believed Russia was on a normal path. To me, 2018, when the country hosted the FIFA World Cup, was Russia’s peak. The economy had recovered after 2014, and there was no open conflict over Crimea.Anna. I’ve lived in St. Petersburg since early childhood. Even when I was in school, my peers often discussed why anyone would want to live in Russia at all — “because things are bad here and better in other countries.” I was already thinking about leaving back then, but those thoughts didn’t become concrete until 2022. The problem was that I didn’t even have enough money for tickets.Mikhail. The year 2022 was difficult for me too. But back then, I still wanted to believe that it [the war] wouldn’t last long. I also took out a mortgage almost immediately after the war began, so the events in Ukraine faded into the background for me. I was busy with personal problems: My now ex-wife and I were renovating our home, and I was dealing with the paperwork needed to stay in Russia. By the end of 2022, I realized I was completely exhausted. I went to a psychiatrist for help with my mental health, and I didn’t start feeling better until 2024.Then I got divorced, moved in with Anya, and quit my job to rest before looking for a new one. In late 2025, I applied for a new Russian residence permit. Yet another encounter with Russia’s immigration system made me wonder whether I wanted to live there at all, given the economic and political tensions.The problems with my residence permit, which took officials a year and a half to process, made me pay closer attention to Russia’s laws. I concluded that the laws were designed to squeeze every last drop out of people living in Russia. Migrants and citizens, workers and business owners — everyone has a hard time. Midsize businesses have it especially bad right now: The government needs money for the war, and it takes that money from them.The problems kept piling up. You’d go to the store, buy an everyday item, and notice that it had cost 15% less just a month earlier. A month later, it would be even more expensive. You look at what’s happening and see a new law here, a new tax there, and new limits somewhere else. Salaries aren’t rising fast enough to keep up with inflation.Anna. We began organizing our departure early this year. We didn’t have a specific deadline because a possible mobilization wouldn’t affect either of us. But leaving now was my idea: I was afraid to remain in Russia after the State Duma elections. I was certain that even without mobilization, the authorities would find a way to make my life miserable. There were rumors that the government might ban people from leaving, tighten border controls, and expand the “foreign agent” laws. All of that made me want to leave before the elections — or at least have somewhere else lined up.Mikhail. In theory, we could have gone to Kazakhstan. I have a better opinion of it now than I used to, if only because the country’s government has changed. But Anya and I settled on Georgia because she can’t tolerate heat, and Georgia’s climate is milder and more pleasant.First, we went to see what it was like. We spent several days in Batumi and Tbilisi and decided that Batumi was more of a vacation destination than a place to live and work. We see Georgia mainly as a stopover, but we may end up putting down roots there.I’m unemployed right now, so my first step will be to get a work permit and look at job openings. Since I don’t know Georgian, I may have to look for work internationally or in Commonwealth of Independent States countries. We have enough savings from our previous jobs to last about a year. If finding a job proves too difficult, I’ll have to do manual labor — I’ll work as a laborer or a mover.I moved to Georgia ahead of Anya in early September. She’ll join me a month later; for now, she’s sorting through and selling the things we don’t need. The move was emotionally difficult because I immediately had to find us an apartment, open bank accounts, and buy everything we needed for our new home. Of course, I’m homesick — not for Russia itself, but for home, for Anya and our cat.Tbilisi is a bit dirtier than St. Petersburg. But the beer tastes better than it does in Russia, the vegetables and taxis are cheap, and the weather is good. So far, my impressions are mixed. I need to calm down and deal with the practicalities of daily life before I can look at the country more objectively.Anna. Even though I’d like to move to Germany or the Czech Republic, I’m in no rush to leave Georgia, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t make ourselves at home there. It’s a safe place where we can make plans for future moves while enjoying a decent life.I’ll keep my current job as a data analyst at a Russian tech company with branches in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. It was easy to arrange to work remotely with my employer. Eventually, like Misha, I plan to look for work internationally because a Russian salary doesn’t fully cover the cost of living in Georgia.One of my colleagues already lives in Georgia. He gave us advice on converting rubles into lari and other practical matters. Several of our friends have also settled there. It matters to me that there are already people in the country I feel comfortable around because I’m not very good at meeting new people.My parents are staying in Russia. My mother called me a “traitor to the motherland,” and we haven’t spoken for several months, though we weren’t particularly close before. I sometimes talk to my father, but only on the phone. I’m not sure I’ll visit Russia to see him — it will be easier to arrange for him to come to Georgia. My paternal half-sister, whom I’m close to, is also staying in Russia. She lives in St. Petersburg too, and I’ll miss her. I want to stay in touch with her.I’m not considering returning to Russia at all right now. I’m not leaving just to lie low and wait things out — I have no plan to return. Of course, I understand that things [in emigration] may not work out. But even if they don’t, we’ll probably go to Kazakhstan instead.I don’t know what could make me return. It would take some almost mythical combination of circumstances: the end of the war, a change in the country’s political direction, and a shift in the public’s attitude [toward the war and the regime]. That may happen eventually, but definitely not in the next few years.Mikhail. I also doubt that Russia will see any sweeping changes for the better in the near future. The current situation resembles the era of Stalinist repression, except that people aren’t yet being herded into the Gulag and shot. But you can be sentenced to life for “treason” if you accidentally transfer money to someone. And there are almost no acquittals.Even after the war ends, the government changes, and other things improve, there will still be a long and painful recovery. It may take 10–15 years for the country to move in the direction we would like.At Meduza, we are committed to transparency about our use of artificial intelligence in the newsroom. The story you’re reading was written by one of our living, breathing journalists and translated from Russian using an AI model configured to follow our strict editorial standards. This translation process is the result of extensive testing and refinements to ensure our English-language coverage is timely and accurate. A Meduza editor reviews every draft before publication.If you find any errors in this translation, please contact us at [email protected].To read Meduza’s exclusive content in English, please subscribe to our newsletter.Bereg