“I won’t come back until Putin is dead”: this Russian tells the story of his escape

“Cheers!” Clinking wine glasses on the roof terrace, the atmosphere is exuberant. The sea engulfs the setting sun on the horizon. Only Stanislav Chatsky sits alone on a wooden bench and works. His eyes stare wearily at the laptop.

Yesterday, the 35-year-old checked into the Amayour Surfhostel in Taghazout on the South Moroccan coast. Like me. But Chatsky is not here on vacation. “Where do you come from?” I ask him. “From Russia,” he says.

A deep conversation ensues between us – about life without a homeland, February 24, 2022 and the Russian president. It’s almost as if Chatsky was waiting to talk to someone about his concerns and his story.

His body then tenses

“I woke up overnight in a country that kills people,” he says. His shock runs deep. It quickly becomes clear: Chatsky fled from Vladimir Putin and the Russian regime. He has been living in Morocco since February and works remotely from here as an architect.

Chatsky, who made up a synonym for his last name for security reasons, is actually an introvert. But when it comes to war, he comes on his own. His body then tenses, he sits up like a log, his hands repeatedly pass through his three-day beard. He has a lot to say – and still struggles for words.

His escape begins on September 21, 2022 – the day Vladimir Putin announces partial mobilization. It is clear to him: he wants to leave the country. As soon as possible. There is no question of a flight, tickets from Moscow to Dubai or Istanbul cost about 9,200 francs – he doesn’t have that much money.

“You never know with our politicians”

Furious, he packs his things into two backpacks, grabs his bike and flees with his brother. The destination: Georgia. Since he never served, he is not affected by the partial mobilization, but he is still scared. “With our politicians, you never know if they’re not drafting you anyway,” says Chatsky.

For months he toyed with the idea of ​​leaving the country, he reports. According to Chatsky, the situation was almost unbearable even before the war, but since Russia’s attack on Ukraine, everything has only gotten worse: protests are immediately suppressed and the war can no longer be called war.

But the reason for the flight was something else: “There were rumors that they were going to close the border,” Chatsky says in a serious tone. That was the common thread for him.

The two brothers fly from Moscow to Mineralnye Vody, nearly 250 kilometers from the Georgian border. The two take the bikes with them in cardboard boxes as luggage. From there you first take the train, then continue cycling to the Georgian border crossing at Verkhniy Lars.

He goes faster on his bike

When they arrive, cars are lined up for miles and people have been waiting here for days. There is panic: drinking water is scarce, just like food and fuel. Some sell their vehicles for half their value to get through the border post faster. Fears are rampant that the borders could close soon. The brothers are much faster than most on the bike, two days later they reach the Georgian capital Tbilisi. Sleepless, but relieved.

Tbilisi is a popular getaway destination for many Russians today. Most are young, academic and politically liberal men like Chatsky. According to Georgian figures, some 112,000 Russians entered and stayed in the country last year. You can stay in Georgia without a visa for up to one year.

Russia’s rejection cannot be overlooked here. Walking around the city the next day, he sees this graffiti everywhere: “Fuck Russia”, “Putin, go home”. “I felt such a deep sense of shame at that moment,” says Chatsky. Not to his country, but to those who threaten world peace in the name of Russia. When Chatsky talks about his homeland, his eyes sparkle. Despite everything, there is hope. Hope to become a free, democratic country.

“I couldn’t reconcile that with my conscience”

The coming weeks are exhausting, the 35-year-old tries to continue his work as an architect from Georgia, but it is difficult: the shock is still so deep that work is hardly possible, his office in Moscow no longer exists and the economic situation the start-ups have been tense since the outbreak of the war. Some customers canceled orders after the outbreak of war, and Chatsky himself ended other projects because they had been commissioned by the Russian authorities. “I couldn’t reconcile that with my conscience,” he says. Chatsky has hardly any savings. He can bridge six weeks, no more.

He is in close contact with his mother, who still lives in Moscow. She fully supports him. However, it is more difficult with his grandmother. She is a supporter of Vladimir Putin. “My mom and I try to keep her away from the propaganda on TV, but it’s hard,” he says. Almost all of his friends from home left the country like himself.

Two months later, the brothers move on, but from now on they are no longer on the road together. The reason for their departure: Although people in Georgia are actually friendly, tensions have risen, Chatsky says. Because: Many of the Russians who arrive in the Georgian capital are wealthy compared to the population and drive up prices – much to the chagrin of locals.

“Europe makes it so difficult for us”

Chatsky flies via Turkey to Morocco. He doesn’t have many options anyway: the EU has suspended the visa facilitation agreement with Russia and many EU countries are making entry even more difficult: for example, a Schengen tourist visa in Germany requires Russian citizens to have an account with a Russian bank that can be shown to be is also active in the EU Member States.

However, almost all of them have now been sanctioned and payment systems such as Mastercard or Visa are no longer active in Russia. In addition, there are higher costs and longer processing times. In short: the threshold to come to Europe is very high. Chatsky finds this disappointing. “I support the West and its values ​​- but Europe is making it so difficult for us,” he says.

But in Morocco he found strength and confidence again, he says. March in Taghazout is warm and sunny, similar to the Northern European summer. Life is cheap and co-working spaces are springing up all over the city.

“Russia is a prison”

How do travelers react to the origin? Before the war started, people were thrilled when Chatsky said he was from Russia. Now the answer is often, “Oh.” However, so far he has encountered few prejudices. “Europeans understand that man does not necessarily represent the country.” And while he feels good, one feeling haunts him: homelessness.

For a few seconds Chatsky struggles to keep his composure, and then he says, “Russia may be my homeland, but it’s not my home. It’s a prison.”

“Ukraine must beat Russia on the battlefield”

His work is better now. Chatsky has been bringing in new projects in recent weeks and it shows: while most guests leave the hostel early in the morning with their surfboards tucked under their arms, he’s often on his laptop in the evening – but not today. “Hello Wyn, what’s up?” he beamed as he stepped onto the roof terrace. On the left a bottle of white wine, on the right a jenever. Artyom, a friend from his childhood, is visiting from Moscow. The two’s first meeting since the escape. We drink a glass of wine together and chat. The two seem intimate, joking about past anecdotes.

But suddenly war erupts in the round of talks. It is about the Minsk agreements, Putin’s expansion policy and NATO. As an outsider you would think: an opposition politician is about to launch an all-out attack on Putin, that’s how sharp the analyzes are.

Then it comes to the one question that diplomats worldwide ask themselves: How can the war end? Chatsky thinks, pauses for a moment and then begins to answer, which is remarkably difficult for him to say: “Ukraine must beat Russia on the battlefield for peace in Europe,” he says. Even if it means that more Russian compatriots die. “At the same time, the West must not corner Putin too much, otherwise there is a risk of nuclear escalation.” At one in the morning, Chatsky can no longer answer how to resolve this contradiction. We are going to sleep.

Until then, he doesn’t want to go back

Is there a way back Unlike many Ukrainians whose homeland was bombed, Chatsky can return to Russia. He doesn’t believe he will suffer consequences because of his escape or even because of this article. He is much more afraid of living in a country that feels like a prison. From the arbitrariness that one wrong word on social media can mean arrest.

For now Marrakech is his next destination. He already has a recommendation for a hostel – from a Telegram group in which Russian refugees in Morocco exchange ideas. The group has more than 2,800 members. But Chatsky still has to leave Morocco in April, after which the 90 days he can stay there without a visa have expired. Then he would first like to return to Georgia to gain a foothold there with new work projects.

And in the long term? “Hm,” Chatsky shrugs helplessly. What would have to happen for him to ever return to Russia? “Either Putin must die, or the war must end,” he says. But even if that were to happen, it would not guarantee a freer Russia. And as long as his homeland is a “prison”, he certainly does not want to go back.

Chatsky has no shortage of visions for the time after. His eyes light up when he talks about the future. “I wish for a Europe without borders from Vladivostok to Portugal,” he says. But his biggest dream is to see Putin before the International Criminal Court in The Hague so that the whole world knows: this man is guilty. (t online)