Society
‘Invisible’ Emigrants: The Lives of Economically Struggling Russians Abroad
August 20, 2024
Based on interviews with Russian emigrants living precarious lives, a team of anthropologists looks at the challenges they face and how they are coping with them, including building new communities driven by the spirit of self-help and empathy.
Construction of a cafe opened by fellow emigrants. Interviewee's photo, published with photographer's permission.
Recent estimates suggest that at least 650,000 people left (and haven’t returned to) Russia since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
Journalists and researchers have widely described Russians who left the country after the invasion of Ukraine as “a privileged category of people,” with enough salary or savings to support themselves abroad.
The term relokanty became a new buzzword, borrowed from the corporate vocabulary of IT companies. Many aitishniki (IT specialists) who left Russia had a smoother transition, being relocated abroad by or with their firms. However, the stereotypes associated with their lifestyle have often been extrapolated to all Russians who left.
Indeed, since 2022 one could often see in Tbilisi and Yerevan well-off-looking young people sitting with their laptops in cafés (some opened by Russians and serving coffee at “Moscow” prices). In those same cafés, however, there were also fellow Russians working as waiters, dishwashers and cooks (earning far below “Moscow” salaries).
Each of these authors knows friends who have been either unemployed or scraping by with small gigs, borrowing money to pay rent and buying the cheapest groceries. These less-affluent Russians arguably do not have the time to participate in surveys and interviews, thus mostly remaining practically “invisible” to researchers.
Journalists and researchers have widely described Russians who left the country after the invasion of Ukraine as “a privileged category of people,” with enough salary or savings to support themselves abroad.
The term relokanty became a new buzzword, borrowed from the corporate vocabulary of IT companies. Many aitishniki (IT specialists) who left Russia had a smoother transition, being relocated abroad by or with their firms. However, the stereotypes associated with their lifestyle have often been extrapolated to all Russians who left.
Indeed, since 2022 one could often see in Tbilisi and Yerevan well-off-looking young people sitting with their laptops in cafés (some opened by Russians and serving coffee at “Moscow” prices). In those same cafés, however, there were also fellow Russians working as waiters, dishwashers and cooks (earning far below “Moscow” salaries).
Each of these authors knows friends who have been either unemployed or scraping by with small gigs, borrowing money to pay rent and buying the cheapest groceries. These less-affluent Russians arguably do not have the time to participate in surveys and interviews, thus mostly remaining practically “invisible” to researchers.
Cleaning a coffee shop started by fellow emigrants. Interviewee's photo, published with photographer's permission.
The research context
Migration is a dynamic process, and the current Russian emigration is no exception. Russian exiles’ economic situation changes – some have got fired from their jobs in Russia because online employment is no longer an option, others have run out of savings.
Additionally, many of those who fled the “partial mobilization” in the fall of 2022 were economically unprepared for life in exile. Recent research shows that Russian emigrants saw a decline in income.
Some analysis has pointed out that class differences markedly reflected across Russian emigration are “neglected in media and scholarly representations.”
The above observations prompted us to look at how people experience poverty in exile, conducting 11 in-depth interviews and longitudinal studies among Russians living in Georgia and Armenia.
Most of our interviewees have done manual labor, such as construction or cleaning. Some were unsure how they would pay rent next month. All of them had left Russia at some point after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine and, at the time we spoke, had no intention of returning. Most of our interviewees were men, which corresponds with data from the Exodus-22 survey showing that more men than women left Russia in the post-mobilization wave. Additionally, we draw excerpts from pertinent interviews that Yakov conducted as part of the OutRush project (over 100 interviews total, from which we selected 10 relevant cases).
New vulnerabilities
One thing we discovered is that a lack of money is never just about economic uncertainty.
Migration is a dynamic process, and the current Russian emigration is no exception. Russian exiles’ economic situation changes – some have got fired from their jobs in Russia because online employment is no longer an option, others have run out of savings.
Additionally, many of those who fled the “partial mobilization” in the fall of 2022 were economically unprepared for life in exile. Recent research shows that Russian emigrants saw a decline in income.
Some analysis has pointed out that class differences markedly reflected across Russian emigration are “neglected in media and scholarly representations.”
The above observations prompted us to look at how people experience poverty in exile, conducting 11 in-depth interviews and longitudinal studies among Russians living in Georgia and Armenia.
Most of our interviewees have done manual labor, such as construction or cleaning. Some were unsure how they would pay rent next month. All of them had left Russia at some point after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine and, at the time we spoke, had no intention of returning. Most of our interviewees were men, which corresponds with data from the Exodus-22 survey showing that more men than women left Russia in the post-mobilization wave. Additionally, we draw excerpts from pertinent interviews that Yakov conducted as part of the OutRush project (over 100 interviews total, from which we selected 10 relevant cases).
New vulnerabilities
One thing we discovered is that a lack of money is never just about economic uncertainty.
“Accessing necessities like housing, food and medicine is only part of the problem – there is also the risk of tearing the social fabric to which a person is accustomed.”
Our interviewee Sasha gives a friendly tour of a mountain in Tbilisi, which he and his friends cleared of rubbish, researched and transformed into a pop-up community space. Published with photographer's permission.
Previous lifestyle elements, such as mobility and leisure activities, become inaccessible, which undermines one’s family duties and social status. Perhaps most often our interviewees spoke about the lack of time for personal interests or the inability to pursue their chosen profession, which posed a threat to their identity.
Stas, formerly a member of a Moscow-based band and a DJ who is now working construction in Tbilisi, bitterly expressed this sense of identity loss:
I’ve been playing in a band my whole life and was a DJ. Well, now how do I define myself? Basically, I’m nobody. After all the life you lived, you end up on a construction site. You can’t even think about creativity anymore.
Divorced from his more successful wife who resides in Western Europe, Stas faced a dilemma when he agreed to have his son visit but was then unexpectedly invited to play as a DJ in another city. He had to decline the invitation. Throughout our conversation, he highlighted the stark contrast between ideal circumstances, such as having a stable home and a fulfilling job, and his current situation, which makes proper parenting harder. As Stas shared, “I just can’t figure out how to play that role.”
Survival strategies
Financial uncertainty, together with the social vulnerabilities it entails, demands that Stas and our other interviewees engage in a constant search for resources, material and social, to “stay afloat” and “fix” the broken sociality.
One obvious material strategy is saving on rent and stuff (e.g. clothes and bikes).
One can find a temporary roof through chats and specialized groups created for sharing accommodation offers. Additionally, there are shelters for Russians which offer either free accommodation for a limited time or very affordable options. The rental costs are fully or partially covered by charities like Free Russia, AntiZona, and the Ark, among others. Some of our interviewees opted for housing in exchange for work, taking jobs, for instance, as hostel administrators.
Another common practice is exchanging, donating and giving away stuff.
Stas, formerly a member of a Moscow-based band and a DJ who is now working construction in Tbilisi, bitterly expressed this sense of identity loss:
I’ve been playing in a band my whole life and was a DJ. Well, now how do I define myself? Basically, I’m nobody. After all the life you lived, you end up on a construction site. You can’t even think about creativity anymore.
Divorced from his more successful wife who resides in Western Europe, Stas faced a dilemma when he agreed to have his son visit but was then unexpectedly invited to play as a DJ in another city. He had to decline the invitation. Throughout our conversation, he highlighted the stark contrast between ideal circumstances, such as having a stable home and a fulfilling job, and his current situation, which makes proper parenting harder. As Stas shared, “I just can’t figure out how to play that role.”
Survival strategies
Financial uncertainty, together with the social vulnerabilities it entails, demands that Stas and our other interviewees engage in a constant search for resources, material and social, to “stay afloat” and “fix” the broken sociality.
One obvious material strategy is saving on rent and stuff (e.g. clothes and bikes).
One can find a temporary roof through chats and specialized groups created for sharing accommodation offers. Additionally, there are shelters for Russians which offer either free accommodation for a limited time or very affordable options. The rental costs are fully or partially covered by charities like Free Russia, AntiZona, and the Ark, among others. Some of our interviewees opted for housing in exchange for work, taking jobs, for instance, as hostel administrators.
Another common practice is exchanging, donating and giving away stuff.
“Our interviewees told us about the ‘circulation’ of items among emigrants. There are regular swaps in Tbilisi, both in public places and at people’s homes, as well as online groups where stuff is sometimes given away.”
A Tbilisi neighborhood where some Russian emigrants are staying. Photo by Ekaterina Chigaleichik.
For Zhenya, a 40-year-old sound engineer from Moscow who is now working as a cleaner in multiple cafes, this kind of sharing is not just about the free items or food but also the emotions that make the overall day-to-day experience of emigration more humane.
Yeah, these people, they’re priceless. All friends who pitch in somehow, someone just feeds you. There was this time when this guy bought me dinner. Of course, that’s going to stick with me forever… There’s this guy who was leaving for Germany, he left me his bike, I’m like, “come on, I’ll buy it from you,” and he goes, “nah, just take it”… We sort of pass clothes around to each other. Like, someone’s leaving, can’t take a lot with them. Friends gave us tables, chairs, you know, stuff like that.
None of our interviewees, however, relied on such saving on stuff and housing as the only or long-term solution. The list of odd jobs we heard about in our conversations with exiles was extensive: construction, repairs, website design, bartending, photo retouching, organizing children’s events, hosting quizzes, event planning, bootlegging, catering, rock climbing shoe repair, rock climbing instruction, musical performances, sound engineering in cinema, apartment cleaning, cleaning public spaces, musical equipment rental, guitar lessons, video editing, tailoring, document digitization, stage construction, delivery services, call center surveys, nanny jobs, preschool teaching, work at a winery, real estate sales in Georgia and Polish language lessons.
Most of these jobs are either one-time tasks (such as designing a website) or short-term gigs (like renovating a room). Then, the next opportunity to make some money must be found, with the search often dragging on. This often leads to a “poverty trap” where a person is doing jobs they do not like and simultaneously searching for any available work, leaving little time and resources for improving their situation.
Most of our interviewees find work through informal networks of other Russian emigrants, which has its pros and cons. On the one hand, there is greater trust toward other Russians (svoi), while salaries, for example, for waiters in cafes opened by Russians are higher than in Georgian or Armenian ones. On the other hand, there are new inequalities as people with the same social status or with similar levels of education find themselves in different social roles.
Zhenya described the challenges he faced as a cleaner in Tbilisi and the humiliation he experienced because of a (previously unfamiliar) class division between him and the people whose apartments he cleans.
So, there are these guys, IT guys, smart guys, and you’re there, just a cleaner… Well, and she [the client] was very picky, greeted me with “do you even know how to clean?”, “how long have you been working in cleaning?”, “how many cleanings have you done?” and so on… So I immediately wanted to leave. And it was disgusting. And my wife and kid had just arrived, and I wanted to spend time with them, but I had to go to this damn job.
Fixing ‘broken’ sociality
Social capital plays a crucial role in mitigating economic uncertainty and its consequences. For most of our interviewees, being embedded in various communities and social networks means access to not just material but also psychological support and valuable reciprocal relationships.
Yeah, these people, they’re priceless. All friends who pitch in somehow, someone just feeds you. There was this time when this guy bought me dinner. Of course, that’s going to stick with me forever… There’s this guy who was leaving for Germany, he left me his bike, I’m like, “come on, I’ll buy it from you,” and he goes, “nah, just take it”… We sort of pass clothes around to each other. Like, someone’s leaving, can’t take a lot with them. Friends gave us tables, chairs, you know, stuff like that.
None of our interviewees, however, relied on such saving on stuff and housing as the only or long-term solution. The list of odd jobs we heard about in our conversations with exiles was extensive: construction, repairs, website design, bartending, photo retouching, organizing children’s events, hosting quizzes, event planning, bootlegging, catering, rock climbing shoe repair, rock climbing instruction, musical performances, sound engineering in cinema, apartment cleaning, cleaning public spaces, musical equipment rental, guitar lessons, video editing, tailoring, document digitization, stage construction, delivery services, call center surveys, nanny jobs, preschool teaching, work at a winery, real estate sales in Georgia and Polish language lessons.
Most of these jobs are either one-time tasks (such as designing a website) or short-term gigs (like renovating a room). Then, the next opportunity to make some money must be found, with the search often dragging on. This often leads to a “poverty trap” where a person is doing jobs they do not like and simultaneously searching for any available work, leaving little time and resources for improving their situation.
Most of our interviewees find work through informal networks of other Russian emigrants, which has its pros and cons. On the one hand, there is greater trust toward other Russians (svoi), while salaries, for example, for waiters in cafes opened by Russians are higher than in Georgian or Armenian ones. On the other hand, there are new inequalities as people with the same social status or with similar levels of education find themselves in different social roles.
Zhenya described the challenges he faced as a cleaner in Tbilisi and the humiliation he experienced because of a (previously unfamiliar) class division between him and the people whose apartments he cleans.
So, there are these guys, IT guys, smart guys, and you’re there, just a cleaner… Well, and she [the client] was very picky, greeted me with “do you even know how to clean?”, “how long have you been working in cleaning?”, “how many cleanings have you done?” and so on… So I immediately wanted to leave. And it was disgusting. And my wife and kid had just arrived, and I wanted to spend time with them, but I had to go to this damn job.
Fixing ‘broken’ sociality
Social capital plays a crucial role in mitigating economic uncertainty and its consequences. For most of our interviewees, being embedded in various communities and social networks means access to not just material but also psychological support and valuable reciprocal relationships.
“Additionally, these connections allow for cultural and social life to go on, effectively bridging the gaps left by financial instability – free or cheap tickets to concerts, free movie screenings and lectures, social visits, nature trips and so forth.”
A Russian emigrant's household. Photo by Ekaterina Chigaleichik.
The more connections people have and the easier they make new ones, the more likely they are to stay socially afloat, avoiding the identity breakdowns that often accompany declines in professional status.
For example, as Stas described the hard work building a Russian-owned cafe, he found comfort in the fact that there are no “real” construction workers there. It’s rather a “cool crowd” of socially close people, he said, including musicians, entrepreneurs and members of his band’s audience, who recognize him.
Both Stas and Zhenya, along with others we talked to, complained about the “poverty trap,” where the need to survive leaves barely any room to explore opportunities for better work or education. Despite their precarity, people do try various educational activities and volunteering – taking language courses, learning graphic design or programming online, hosting quizzes at bars and giving city tours.
Typically, these pursuits do not directly translate into material gain, though some emigrants are investing in skills they hope to monetize later, while volunteering helps maintain social status in the community and builds social capital, which can lead to paid job opportunities.
Take Vladimir, the former owner of a ska-themed bar in a Moscow suburb who moved to Dilijan (Armenia), who has mastered event formats like quizzes and catering. He is willing to do events for free, quite aware that it elevates his status in the community.
As Vladimir said, “it’s not hard for me to spend a day organizing an event, but I know that it helps our social community. And for this, I’m respected.” Social capital pays off when people recommend him to others, such as for corporate events in companies that relocated their offices to Yerevan.
Often, however, the decisions people make are economically “irrational,” and rather serve to support a person’s identity and values.
One of our interviewees, Sasha, who used to work as an urbanist in a planning bureau in Moscow and now struggles to pay rent for a tiny room with no windows by doing small gigs at construction sites or setting up stages, adopted a dog last summer. The dog, named Zhuchka, needs costly treatment. Yet, as we talked with Sasha, we got the impression that he was taking better care of Zhuchka than himself, clearly prioritizing her medical needs over his own.
At some point, Sasha managed to sell some snowboarding equipment he had left in Moscow. In another seemingly “irrational” decision he chose to spend this money not on paying rent or other necessities, but on Georgian language courses.
He is learning Georgian not for practical reasons – the language is difficult and it would be time-consuming to learn professionally, plus integration into Georgian society is currently problematic. In our conversation, Sasha said that it gives him a sense of community and a deeper attachment to Georgia, which in turn helps to cope with uncertainty.
Sasha’s actions may seem irrational, but they make sense when viewed as a way to maintain the values, identity and lifestyle he brought from home.
Finding meaning and hope
All in all, none of our interviewees perceived their emigration in terms of work.
For example, as Stas described the hard work building a Russian-owned cafe, he found comfort in the fact that there are no “real” construction workers there. It’s rather a “cool crowd” of socially close people, he said, including musicians, entrepreneurs and members of his band’s audience, who recognize him.
Both Stas and Zhenya, along with others we talked to, complained about the “poverty trap,” where the need to survive leaves barely any room to explore opportunities for better work or education. Despite their precarity, people do try various educational activities and volunteering – taking language courses, learning graphic design or programming online, hosting quizzes at bars and giving city tours.
Typically, these pursuits do not directly translate into material gain, though some emigrants are investing in skills they hope to monetize later, while volunteering helps maintain social status in the community and builds social capital, which can lead to paid job opportunities.
Take Vladimir, the former owner of a ska-themed bar in a Moscow suburb who moved to Dilijan (Armenia), who has mastered event formats like quizzes and catering. He is willing to do events for free, quite aware that it elevates his status in the community.
As Vladimir said, “it’s not hard for me to spend a day organizing an event, but I know that it helps our social community. And for this, I’m respected.” Social capital pays off when people recommend him to others, such as for corporate events in companies that relocated their offices to Yerevan.
Often, however, the decisions people make are economically “irrational,” and rather serve to support a person’s identity and values.
One of our interviewees, Sasha, who used to work as an urbanist in a planning bureau in Moscow and now struggles to pay rent for a tiny room with no windows by doing small gigs at construction sites or setting up stages, adopted a dog last summer. The dog, named Zhuchka, needs costly treatment. Yet, as we talked with Sasha, we got the impression that he was taking better care of Zhuchka than himself, clearly prioritizing her medical needs over his own.
At some point, Sasha managed to sell some snowboarding equipment he had left in Moscow. In another seemingly “irrational” decision he chose to spend this money not on paying rent or other necessities, but on Georgian language courses.
He is learning Georgian not for practical reasons – the language is difficult and it would be time-consuming to learn professionally, plus integration into Georgian society is currently problematic. In our conversation, Sasha said that it gives him a sense of community and a deeper attachment to Georgia, which in turn helps to cope with uncertainty.
Sasha’s actions may seem irrational, but they make sense when viewed as a way to maintain the values, identity and lifestyle he brought from home.
Finding meaning and hope
All in all, none of our interviewees perceived their emigration in terms of work.
“It is important for people to explain to themselves and others why they are still in exile despite the hardships, even though their life in Russia was – and for many could still be – more successful and comfortable.”
Many argue that the situation in Russia is worse, including new limitations on their professional sphere, such as censorship and repression, and the risk of being sent to Ukraine.
Others justified their choice from a moral standpoint: by moving and sacrificing comfort, they remained true to their political and moral principles.
A few people also compared their situation to those who have it harder, such as Ukrainians under attack. Besides maintaining their values and identities through educational, volunteering and creative activities – often in spite of economic rationality – these interpretations help people to see their choice to leave Russia as the right one.
To sum up, some Russians are experiencing emigration in ways that resemble “classic” labor migration: taking irregular and unskilled jobs within the Russian emigrant community, exchanging resources within emigrant networks and facing unfamiliar forms of inequality. Unlike labor migrants, their economic situation at home was fairly comfortable, with the political context of the war and their background as educated city dwellers also setting them apart. Their cultural and social capital helps them to interpret and normalize their situation, cope with economic instability and stay afloat.
Despite pervasive uncertainty – financial, legal and psychological – many expressed hope amid frustration. As Sasha said, “there was this kind of hope, like, despite hitting rock bottom when I was ready to call it quits, there’s this new hope that you can somehow keep on living. How exactly – you don’t know – but you definitely can.”
Others justified their choice from a moral standpoint: by moving and sacrificing comfort, they remained true to their political and moral principles.
A few people also compared their situation to those who have it harder, such as Ukrainians under attack. Besides maintaining their values and identities through educational, volunteering and creative activities – often in spite of economic rationality – these interpretations help people to see their choice to leave Russia as the right one.
To sum up, some Russians are experiencing emigration in ways that resemble “classic” labor migration: taking irregular and unskilled jobs within the Russian emigrant community, exchanging resources within emigrant networks and facing unfamiliar forms of inequality. Unlike labor migrants, their economic situation at home was fairly comfortable, with the political context of the war and their background as educated city dwellers also setting them apart. Their cultural and social capital helps them to interpret and normalize their situation, cope with economic instability and stay afloat.
Despite pervasive uncertainty – financial, legal and psychological – many expressed hope amid frustration. As Sasha said, “there was this kind of hope, like, despite hitting rock bottom when I was ready to call it quits, there’s this new hope that you can somehow keep on living. How exactly – you don’t know – but you definitely can.”
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