In November 2022, editors asked me to watch what I eat and stop ordering takeout. At first I didn't attach much importance to it. But I soon realized the importance of their advice when, just a month later, my colleague Elena Kostyuchenko revealed that she had been poisoned in Germany, in what was likely an assassination attempt by the Russian state.
Such stories have become commonplace. Investigative journalist Alesja Marohovskaja was harassed in the Czech Republic last year. In February, the body of Russian Maksim Kuzminov, who fled to Ukraine, was found riddled with bullets in Spain. In both cases, it is assumed that the Kremlin is involved. Russian opposition figures are well aware that even in exile they are targets of Russian intelligence services.
However, they are not the only ones at risk. There are also hundreds of thousands of Russians who left their homeland because they wanted nothing to do with Vladimir Putin's war - or were forced to leave, accused of not supporting him enough. These inconspicuous dissenters are also targets for surveillance and kidnapping. Nevertheless, the repression against them happens in silence, far from the spotlight and often with the tacit consent, or insufficient prevention, of the countries to which they fled.
It's terrifying: the Kremlin is hunting ordinary people around the world, and no one seems to care.
In Montenegro, a carer for the elderly was arrested on a Russian order, implemented through Interpol
Since the beginning of the war in Ukraine, I have been collecting information about Russian targeting of people in exile. My sources range from survivors of abductions and surveillance to leaders of the Russian diaspora around the world - and a few human rights activists who help them. Many spoke to me on the condition of anonymity so they could speak about Russian repression without fear of retribution. The Kremlin, of course, denies any involvement, mostly saying it cannot comment on what happens to people in other countries. However, the evidence is piling up.
A vocal pedagogue who was arrested in Kazakhstan at Moscow's request went crazy in a local prison. The caregiver of the elderly was detained in Montenegro on a Russian order, implemented through Interpol. One teacher was detained by Armenian border guards after she told her students about Russia's crimes in Buca. A toy store owner, an industrial climber, a punk rocker: These are some of the people caught in the Kremlin's network around the world.
And it is truly a global operation. In Britain, exiles are monitored, and opposition events in London are swarming with "eye-popping" agents, Ksenia Maksimova, an anti-Kremlin activist, told me. Russian intelligence officers were sent to monitor diasporas in Germany, Poland and Lithuania, according to Evgeni Smirnov, a lawyer specializing in treason and espionage cases. Other emigrants were followed and threatened in Rome, Paris, Prague and Istanbul. The list goes on.
Some of the methods are particularly insidious. Lev Gjamer, an activist in exile in Poland, has been receiving messages for two years, allegedly from his mother. "Levushka, son, I miss you, when will you come to visit me?" The second reads: "Son, I'm waiting for you. Come back soon”. He ignores them because his mother Olga died five years ago. Another Russian emigrant, whose parents are alive and very ill, decided to believe it when his parents' longtime nurse told him over the phone that there had been a fire in their apartment. He rushed home from Finland and was immediately taken to prison and tortured, according to Smirnov. Of course, the fire never happened.
Those who cannot be tricked into returning to Russia are subject to surveillance. An employee of an organization that supports LGBTQ people was walking her dog in a neighborhood in Tbilisi, Georgia, when she noticed that she was being followed by a drone. It was an evening at the beginning of May, two years after she escaped from Russia with the rest of her colleagues.
She quickened her pace and hid in her apartment, but she still heard the buzzing. She followed the sound to the balcony and found herself face to face with the device, which was hanging within arm's reach.
Host countries are often complicit. In some places, local police even conduct surveillance on behalf of their Russian counterparts. In Kazakhstan, local special services are helping Russia capture both of those who escaped conscription. In Kyrgyzstan, police are using facial recognition technology to track down those wanted by the Kremlin, forcing people to flee cities and mountains, according to reports from a number of rights groups. When not actively aiding Russian surveillance, local authorities are sometimes slow to stop it.
This was the case with Sergey Podsitnik, a journalist who investigated military ties between Russia and Iran. In March of this year, still reeling from the news that the drone factory he discovered had been sanctioned, he returned to his room in Duisburg, Germany. Before he went into exile, Podsitnik was part of Alexei Navalny's opposition network and made a habit of checking to see if anyone was following him. Outside his door, he casually glanced over his shoulder and saw, peeking around the corner, a stranger following his every step.
Host countries are often complicit. When not actively aiding Russian surveillance, local authorities are sometimes slow to stop it
Podsitnik's colleague also noticed that he was being watched by the same man, but they had to file complaints twice to secure an investigation by local authorities. The police in Duisburg, it seemed, simply could not understand that it was possible for Russian-sponsored surveillance to take place in their city. The case was soon closed without finding the perpetrator, which may have been a mistake. Duisburg is one of the places, according to the Center for the Files, a London-based research organization, from which agents of the Russian military intelligence unit carried out sabotage abroad.
The reminder is now safe, but not everyone was so lucky. Exiles who have experienced similar surveillance sometimes disappear without a trace, either outside an embassy in Armenia or from a rural church in Georgia, only to later turn up in Russian detention centers. It is impossible to estimate how often this happens. However, we can assume, my sources say, that there are many more cases like that of Lev Skorjakin, who was taken from his hostel in Kyrgyzstan last October, put in a car and deported back to Russia. We just don't know about them.
Many Russians abroad are vulnerable and unprotected. In the summer of 2023, civil society groups petitioned the European Parliament to help people who refused to fight in Putin's army gain legal status, but there was no significant response. Political asylum is routinely denied not only to draft escapees, but also to activists, sometimes "with monstrous arguments that 'the situation in Russia is normal and you can count on a fair trial,'" Margarita Kuchusheva, an immigration lawyer at the Cyprus.
The anti-war exiles are supported by a handful of human rights organizations, which are constantly on the brink of closure due to lack of funding. Russia, by contrast, invests many resources in the exiles - while accusing them of treason and terrorism and, driven by paranoia, persecuting them around the world. They are in immediate danger. However, the greater danger is that the world completely forgets these people - and why they left their country.
The author is an investigative journalist for "Meduza", an independent Russian media
The text was published in the "New York Times"
Prepared by: A. Š.
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