I find it difficult to talk about changes that took place after 2022 - their very definition has been transformed. Any change now is no longer linear, the way we got used to perceiving it.

All big changes are connected with the war and its circumstances, which themselves can change at any moment. But the main thing that is different today is, perhaps, the lack of a clear idea of future - something that is very common for everyone now: everyone lives their lives the best they can, just going about daily routine, without really planning ahead.

We believed to be able to overcome everything and manage it somehow, despite the fact that we were not on the same path with the current government. I truly hoped that horizontal initiatives could transform society. And now I am still sure that grassroot initiatives are the best thing we have in Russia now, but I don’t believe that they will have a big impact on anything in the near future.

The central task of every Russian today is to preserve at least a few islands of civil society, to feel agency, responsibility, power - if you like - at least in some positive activities. To do this, we need to create communities, help independent initiatives, participate in them ourselves and try to be autonomous, not to play by the rules of the perverted state, not to use tools that lead to self-censorship or other forms of repressions, and of course, - to resist indoctrination, especially in what concerns children.

With censorship all is clear. The authorities are sluggishly trying to revive the Soviet Union. But the repressions are quite targeted (which I don't devalue). Repressions do exist, they are absurd and cruel, but not massive like in 1937. Now in Russia it is enough to imprison the most active ones and a few of random passers-by to induce fear in everyone else.

In 2020 the number of the detained for their anti-war position was about 20,000 (and much is unlikely to have changed over the last year) but charges were pressed against 5,000 - of which about 400 were criminal cases. It is a drop in the ocean, keeping in mind the country's total population of 146 million! But in ordinary life, of course, there are double moral standards, there is censorship and self-censorship.

People are learning to play by new rules; for those who disagree, they are getting stricter; for conformists, on the contrary, more clear. But the spiral of violence is unfolding, everyone understands that it is no longer enough to simply be loyal to the authorities and just keep silent about "special military operation" [a euphemism officially used by the Russian government to denote the Russian invasion of Ukraine] - now one has to actively demonstrate support for the war, if you are a public figure, or somehow participate at your own level. Moreover, this is true for all social and age groups.

The only thing that is still legally possible for those who stand against the war staying in Russia is not to take part in social processes that require the articulation of political positions, and build one's own small communities where they can at least discuss something openly. But it requires great caution.

As for visual art, neither did it play a big part in society nor it has a huge influence now, undergoing obvious transformations. Almost forgotten Aesopian language is returning, art activism has been revisited and a lot is happening online (also on social networks), while offline oppositional art exists mostly underground. Aggression of the so-called "patriots" towards critical statements has predictably increased, and on the other hand, the demand for such art is now higher on the part of anti-war people.

I left Russia for several reasons. One was a loss of security, and the lack of a clear picture of the future where I could realize my ideas based on my values. Another - inability to come to terms with the new social reality, inability to change it... I was simply tired of the country. Before the war, my husband and I had been planning to move to another city. Now I approach our decision to move country as the extension of this plan. We have just moved a little further.

Moldova is the homeland of my ancestors and here there are a lot of some intersections with my childhood and my grandmother who I used to be very close with. In strangers I recognize familiar features; in the local cuisine - familar tastes. I pay attention to some household items or songs, but the main component of the cultural context is language and here my journey is only about to start. But I think that I want it to become a part of myself.

In Moldova there are few Russian emigrants and I mostly keep in touch with my community online. In my field, I see everyone trying in their own ways to deal with the feeling of guilt and regain agency, which we have all been deprived of at once. Everyone feels they must oppose the war and by being involved in activism, volunteering and support of the armed forces of Ukraine people show their responsibility. All these, however, are accompanied by stress, confusion, and financial problems. Many simply cannot stand it and get isolated, others face huge personal conflicts, rethink their lives, or in a panic act compulsively and make mistakes... sometimes fatal.

It is also clear that everyone has to handle everyday issues first, and feelings of guilt and other moral issues are a quite intimate sphere. But I did notice that in the Russian-speaking community the discussion about guilt and responsibility was interrupted, people never went beyond the initial theses: everyone seems to have agreed to "do their homework" and think everything through, but since the charges haven't yet been made known, everyone is silent.

Perhaps, silence among Russian emigrants could also be explained by the painfulness of such reflections and uneasiness of their public articulation. It might take time to come to terms with them. And of course, talks about guilt and responsibility frighten many. No one can truly take responsibility for their own life, so how can we expect being responsible "on a global scale"?

In addition, international community shows different expectations from Russian emigration. There is no consensus on this matter. Some say, "Just shut up and disappear! We do not want to see you in either media or in public field at all." Others question, "Why are you silent? You should constantly speak out!" Some reproach Russians for not being active enough, others - for being active but only because of the desire to suppress the feeling of guilt and in reality not giving a damn about Ukraine. In general, this also creates confusion, and thus in the end some Russians decide to simply walk away from this discourse.

I am surrounded by people who keep on repeating, "Lord, what a shame! Why can’t I influence this? How can I make this nightmare stop?" But I understand that it is not necessarily what the world notices, like with survivorship bias, when we see that people live ordinary lives, not greatly affected by external shocks, because those who do reflect and worry do not participate so actively in social life precisely because of these experiences. And thus it is arrogant hedonists, hungry for a place in the sun who attract our attention - and not those who did not participate in exhibitions because of the demands of Ukrainians, or refused to take part in conferences, but silently helped with fundraising, volunteered at train stations, transported Ukranian refugees across borders, rescued animals, or took care of political prisoners. Such people are invisible, but they do exist, both in and out of Russia. And there are especially many of them among emigrants who left some time ago because they have gained enough resources, energy, and confidence and now can be active.

But all above mentioned does not mean that those ready to help, empathic, responsible and conscientious people constitute the majority. My experience suggests that there may not be so many of them, but among emigrants - probably more than on average in Russia.

As for IT specialists who probably form the biggest part of Russian emigrants, they rather see Russia as a corporation about to go bankrupt which means they need to urgently quit it and find a better corporation to work for.

The concept of Russia as my motherland has not changed for me. It still means the same: the place where I was born, grew up, some circumstances that shaped me in childhood, things I either accept or resist. For me, homeland is not an object of worship, and neither is it identical to one's place of residence. I approach any past as valuable, regardless of the place where it unfolded - we never choose where to be born.

Let's just say that I don't feel that the country where I was born belongs to me or I belong to it, that I am part of a people who share with me the same values or a similar worldview, that we form some kind of community, and thus that I should love it and stick to its irrational, and sometimes just harmful, attitudes.

In talks about homeland, I always felt more like an outsider who suddenly finds herself in the inhospitable and strange Siberia, surrounded by people with whose alien life principles, so I never managed to form a positive emotional connection with either its geography or society.

It does not mean that nothing good happened to me in Russia, there were a lot of cool things, and hundreds of good people, but I would rather describe it as experience of the "despite" mode - a state that I have grown to really appreciate. And all these close people are something that much bigger and better than what is meant by the concept of "motherland".

Interview, translation from Russian into English and page design - Olga Bubich