I miss my Russia.

I don’t have to explain to you why I’ve been afraid to utter these words on the Internet until now. Ever since the war began, I have been using my social media platforms to speak up against the Russian President’s unjustified invasion of Ukraine, while also reporting on the use of fake news and nationalistic propaganda employed by Russian media to marshal their country against an invisible enemy…

I have been observing, from afar, how a country I deeply loved turned into an openly fascist regime, the likes of which I would have never expected to see in my lifetime. An Orwellian reality where people will deny facts and evidence in favor of the narrative spun by their “Big Brother”.

Circumstances have forced me not to return to Russia for a few years now. And, even if it was safe for me to do so, I still wouldn’t go. Because I don’t think I could stand the sight of what it’s become. I couldn’t stand to see just how many people have been turned into war-cheering zombies, how the government has successfully implemented a nationwide cult of war and death, or how those swastika-reminiscent Zs “decorate” the city I love the most in the world.

I have traveled extensively and lived in many cities across Europe and North America, and I have never been as happy as when I lived in Moscow. No other city has ever enchanted me as much. I remember visiting the Red Square on a regular basis, sitting down on a bench in front of the GUM, facing the entire square, and simply contemplating, taking it all in: the brightly colored walls of the Kremlin, the dream-like beauty of St. Basil’s Cathedral, the crimson red walls of the Historical Museum, all those bright colors — blue, green, yellow, red, pink — which painted the entire square in a vibrant rainbow. It felt like I was only seeing those colors for the first time right then and there.

Or I would stroll through Gorky Park, and just feel the happiest I’d ever felt. I was constantly walking around the city, exploring, relishing every second of it. I’ve always hated taking the subway in any other city I’ve lived in. In Moscow, I loved it. So many subway stations in Moscow are absolute masterpieces of architecture, and each one is unique, with a different “flavor” to it. Stepping into a Moscow subway station meant being instantly surrounded by art.

I was in love with Moscow. Even after I returned to New York and resumed my life, I couldn’t wait till the next time I would be back.

Needless to say, the Russia I knew and loved was utterly different from the Russia that you may have heard of in the news, or from the mirage of military superpower at the “rescue” of the poor victims of the evil U.S. and NATO and “Ukrainian neo-nazis” (depending on the day and the mood of the President, you will get a different culprit), which is the image that the Kremlin has been promoting for the last twenty years or so.

My Russia was never the “mafia state”* that Vladimir Vladimirovich has so successfully implemented since he’s risen to power. My Russia was that of ordinary Russian people who loved their country for its rich and fascinating culture, for its strong sense of cultural identity, and for its legacy of surviving against the harshest, most inhumane regimes.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to Russia. I don’t know how much death and destruction are required to satisfy the ego of one, inevitably aging man who seems to grasp at the straws of what’s left of his country for reasons known to him alone.

All I know is that I miss my Russia, not his. Not the one of those who believe in tales of imperialistic glory, not the one of those who don’t have a shred of humanity left. I miss real Russia, the one that made me happy. The one of those who are or have been silenced. I miss true Russia. I miss the truth.

*The term “mafia state” was coined by the now deceased Alexander Litvinenko, former officer of the FSB (Federal Security Service) later turned dissident and outspoken critic of the Kremlin. After exposing numerous crimes committed by the Kremlin against other dissidents and journalists, he was poisoned with polonium-210 while in London and died shortly afterwards. The European Court of Human Rights declared Russia responsible for Litvinenko’s death. No arrests were made and the fine imposed on the Kremlin (€ 100,000) has yet to be paid.

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