Summary

The author, Dan Kadlec, is encountering an increasing number of Russian emigres in Dubai, observing the impact of western sanctions on both wealthy oligarchs and ordinary Russian citizens, and reflecting on the changing perceptions of Russia before and after the invasion of Ukraine.

Abstract

In the wake of the invasion of Ukraine and subsequent western sanctions, Dubai has seen an influx of Russian emigres, ranging from oligarchs to working-class individuals. The author, who has been living in Dubai, notes the stark increase in Russian conversations and interactions, which has given a new dimension to the conflict for him personally. Russians are seen engaging in daily life, from families checking into hotels to couples reuniting at the airport. This migration is not just a result of the wealthy moving assets; it includes thousands of ordinary Russians fleeing their homeland, leaving behind possessions and loved ones. The author observes the contrast between the current situation and the westernization and sprouting freedoms he witnessed in Moscow just a few years prior. The narrative underscores the tragic loss experienced by Russians who had been optimistic about their future, now facing an uncertain and tumultuous present, while also acknowledging the far greater suffering of Ukrainians.

Opinions

The author acknowledges a personal fascination with the Russian language, recognizing its unique qualities, despite not speaking it himself.
There is a sense of empathy for the Russian emigres, particularly those who are not wealthy oligarchs but ordinary citizens displaced by the invasion and sanctions.
The author points out the stark contrast between the lives of Russians before the invasion, with emerging consumerism and freedoms, and the current reality of loss and displacement.
The author conveys a poignant perspective on the human cost of the invasion, noting the personal stories of those who have fled and the emotional toll it has taken on them.
There is a clear distinction made between the suffering of Ukrainians, which is described as an unthinkable hell, and the experiences of Russian refugees, which, while tragic, are recognized as less severe.
The author reflects on

Bumping Into Russians

At the airport. In the lobby. Suddenly I’m hearing Russian conversations all around me during my stay in Dubai, giving the war, for me, a new dimension.

Crowds shop western brands near GUM mall off Red Square in 2018. Photo by Dan Kadlec

I don’t speak Russian. But I know Russian speak, and I’ve been hearing more of it here in Dubai, where I have been living the past few months. The language can sound harsh. But when spoken in hushed tones it has a velvety, elegant, almost hypnotic quality that renders it unmistakable.

The title character played by Jamie Lee Curtis in A Fish Called Wanda was so taken by the language that she responded erotically when John Cleese’s character, Archie, spoke Russian gibberish in the hope of seducing her. I’m no Wanda. But I always take note.

Returning to Dubai after a recent flight, as I snaked through an endless line at immigration, a Russian father nearby was calling for his fidgety children to behave: “Deti vedut sebya!” he barked. Okay. I’m not sure that’s what he said. Because I don’t speak Russian. But his kids fell in line pretty darn fast.

Outside the airport, a young man who had been waiting with a colorful bouquet called out “Solnishko!” in obvious delight as he rushed to a young woman. I had to Google it. The translation was “little sun,” a common Russian term of endearment. Later, at the hotel, a Russian family was checking in as I passed the front desk.

This crush of random encounters didn’t seem like a coincidence. Yes, Russians have long emigrated to Dubai for jobs and the warm weather. Before the invasion of Ukraine, the Russian ex-pat community in Dubai already numbered in the tens of thousands. That number surely is growing.

At last count, 159 western companies had made a clean break from Russia while 182 had suspended all operations and may never resume.

Much is written about where Russian oligarchs are parking their superyachts and Gulfstream jets under threat of sanctions from the west. Dubai is one of those places. With a lot of Russian money, the yacht-building industry here has doubled the past eight years, and in recent weeks yacht traffic between Bluewaters and Palm Jumeirah in Dubai Harbor has felt like the Long Island Expressway at rush hour. Clashing wakes from floating 250-foot behemoths toss novice jet skiers like dinghies in a hurricane.

But ordinary Russians are on the move too. The families and the reuniting couple I saw were not oligarchs — and they were not on vacation. They were among the estimated 200,000 working-class folks who fled to Armenia, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, Turkey, and the United Arab Emirates. Much of the UAE flow has been into Dubai. Demand has been so strong that one-way coach air fare from Moscow has risen five-fold to $1,800.

I continue to encounter Russian emigres and speak to them when it feels appropriate. In the elevator, I commented on a small poodle that a middle-aged man was about to take for a walk. I’m big on elevator convos; I enjoy interacting with strangers and have largely perfected the timing and how to graciously butt into someone’s life. But this man was in no mood. He mumbled something in Russian without making eye contact. I knew that my gregariousness had failed and that his mind was heavy and far away.

“Oh yeah,” a little voice in my head said. “Not everyone here is on a holiday.”

The level of tragedy in the lives of fleeing Russians does not come close to approaching the horrors that Ukrainians are experiencing. Several million Ukrainians have lost everything and streamed into Poland, Moldova, Slovakia, and Hungary. Those who haven’t fled are in a living hell. This unthinkable suffering is on the news 24–7 in graphic detail.

The experience of fleeing Russians is a less-told story, though one that increasingly is coming into focus as protestors in the motherland grow bolder, like Marina Ovsyannikova, who famously photo bombed a live newscast. Mainstream media has begun to report the exodus. But being in the middle of it, as a westerner, is both revealing and poignant.

The Russian refugees I have encountered are still in shock and largely reluctant to share details. In my limited sampling, their livelihoods had been tied to western companies with offices in Moscow that shut down with little warning. The lucky ones were given 48 hours to accept a ticket out, leaving almost everything they owned behind. Some hope to return one day.

Dimitri, a young man, left his mother and father behind. With no time to think the matter through, he hopped the next flight believing this nightmare would pass soon enough and he could go back to them. Yet hundreds of international companies are preparing for permanent shutdown. At last count, 159 western companies had made a clean break from Russia while 182 had suspended all operations and may never resume.

When might Dimitri go home? Possibly never.

Alina and Ivan have two young children. But they only had a passport for one, so the other child stayed behind with grandparents. They didn’t know what else to do and had no time to consider their options. Their days are now consumed with searching for a path to reunite the family — whatever it takes. These are heartbreaking stories to hear first-hand.

In the west, many have a skewed vision of what life was like in Russia before Putin invaded Ukraine. Yes, it was restrictive. But freedoms were sprouting, and consumerism had a toehold. I was in Moscow in 2018 to report on Russia’s financial literacy initiatives and found the city’s degree of westernization startling. As I wrote at the time:

Directly across Red Square in the shadow of the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral sits the Gum mall, a large shopping mecca boasting brands from Dior to Vuitton. You can buy a bag from Prada or sunglasses from Gucci, or just gather yourself at the Beluga Bar over black caviar. And it is busy. Very busy.

Consumerism has found its way to Russia, and not just at the mall. Tourists travel to this city rich with culture from many countries, and the government likes what it sees. Shortly after the World Cup final here on July 15, President Vladimir Putin announced that the hundreds of thousands of football fans visiting from other countries may keep their “fan pass” credentials and return without a visa anytime they like through the end of the year.

This is the Russia that was — or almost was. Things were getting better. Globally minded Russian millennials were optimistic about their future. The Russians I interviewed then were young, proud, talkative, and full of energy. They were preparing the Russian masses to understand capitalist-style investments, and mortgages and other types of credit to build a better life.

We know now that a hideous, controlling evil lurked even then — and the Russia that was, is gone. Displaced ordinary Russians have a legitimate sense of tragic loss, even though their loss pales in comparison to that of Ukrainians.

Dan Kadlec is a former columnist at TIME. He is in the Middle East on a personal quest to better understand foreign cultures. He is writing a memoir based on his early career at small-town newspapers in middle America.