Rumors of another mobilization have pushed some Russians from contingency plans to packed bags. Readers tell Meduza where they’ve fled.

Meduza recently asked readers who had decided to leave Russia in recent months to tell us how they found the courage to take such a difficult step. We wanted to know more than why people were leaving the country in 2026. The reasons clearly include the economic crisis, Internet restrictions, Ukrainian drone attacks, and rumors of possible mobilization. Above all, we wanted to know whether Russia was experiencing a genuine new wave of emigration. Judging by the number of letters our newsroom received, the answer is yes. Here are some of the most compelling stories you sent us.

Warning: This article contains adult language.

Alexey

Fryazino, Moscow region

I consider the mobilization rumors entirely credible, so I’m urging friends who are staying in Russia to gather medical records documenting their health problems — whether it’s a knee wrecked playing soccer or a patched-up skull from being hit by a flying board.

I had been thinking about moving abroad for a long time, but I couldn’t get a Czech work visa during the COVID restrictions. I have a friend there who would have hired me. Then the war began, and the Czech Republic stopped issuing work visas altogether. I didn’t have enough money to leave without a destination or a plan, and I became depressed.

Then a distant relative died, and I learned that I was the heir. I sold the apartment I inherited, so now I can afford to leave.

I’ve been preparing for the move for almost a year. At first, I considered Germany because my grandfather had German roots. But that didn’t work out. It turned out my crafty grandfather had forged some documents in 1940 and had himself registered as Jewish, though his old photos suggest he would have looked right at home on a poster for some German political party. As a young man, he was a blond, athletic guy who stood nearly 6 feet 3 inches tall. How he managed to make a deal with the women at the passport office is a mystery.

In short, there’s no way to prove that I have German roots, so my wife and I decided to go to Paraguay. I think South America may be even better: taxes are lower than in Germany, and the culture makes more sense to me. We’ll fly to Foz do Iguaçu in Brazil because more tickets are available and they’re cheaper, then take a bus to Paraguay. This route takes us not to the capital, Asunción, but to the industrial area around Hohenau, where it’s easier to find affordable housing and work in my field.

We’re in the home stretch now. I’m waiting for apostilles for my documents and struggling to learn Spanish, which isn’t easy at my age. I’ve already sold or given away everything I’m not taking with me.

For me, staying or leaving isn’t really a choice, because I don’t want to take part in war crimes. I have no reason to return to Russia from Paraguay — even at the coldest time of year, nighttime temperatures there only occasionally fall to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. And there are no Internet restrictions.

Ksenia

Moscow

I’m panicking — sheer panic. The last time I was under this much stress, my hands started trembling, and I experienced my first symptoms of borderline personality disorder. I spent a year and a half taking antidepressants and going to therapy to learn how to manage my mental health. Now overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and helplessness keep washing over me in waves. My partner and I are both medical professionals, which means we’re automatically liable for military service.

My instinct is to run and never look back. Every day, I’m afraid, I cry, and I track price changes and political developments. I can think of only one thing: “I just hope we make it out in time.” But getting our degrees recognized so we can work abroad and transporting our pets will make leaving more complicated.

I was already thinking about moving four years ago, but circumstances made it impossible at the time.

The last straw for me — ridiculous as it may sound — was an advertisement for the notorious Alabuga Polytechnic. I saw the children and heard what they were saying, and the hair on my arms literally stood on end. I’m afraid to live in a country where a generation with such ideas is growing up. I’m terrified that my children will have classmates, fellow university students, colleagues, and neighbors like that.

My husband and I decided that we want to move to Germany. It came out ahead on every criterion that matters to me, including how difficult it would be to achieve certain life goals there. I’ve never lived anywhere but Russia, though my sister emigrated in 2023. I’ve also traveled a lot, so I have some idea of what to expect. It’s going to be fucking hard. But hard is better than impossible.

We’re now learning German, getting our pets microchipped and vaccinated, and obtaining apostilles for our documents. I applied for a second passport and withdrew all the money from my savings accounts. I still haven’t exchanged my rubles or figured out how and where to flee if mobilization begins before we can complete all the necessary preparations.

I don’t plan to return to Russia. No matter what happens or who is in power, I no longer believe in this country. I don’t believe it is my homeland, and I don’t want it to be my future children’s homeland.

Further reading

‘You see this line? It’s all Russians.’ In a dispatch from Almaty, Meduza meets Russian citizens flocking to Kazakhstan following Moscow’s invasion of Ukraine

4 years ago

Stanislav

Kirov region

When I think about the possibility of mobilization, I’m horrified and afraid for my life. I know I don’t want to become a killer or a war criminal. That was how I felt in 2022, and my reaction hasn’t changed since.

I’ve never emigrated, but I’ve traveled extensively: I’ve visited 20 countries, including some in Latin America, Africa, and Southeast Asia. In May, after returning from Morocco, I finally realized that Russia would not improve as long as Putin remained in power. The deciding factors were the drones, burning oil refineries and e-commerce warehouses, communications restrictions, and idiotic, barbaric laws.

I sold my most valuable possession — my computer — and left for South Korea with 1,000 euros in my pocket. I’ve been here for a month. I may be undocumented now, but I’ll obtain refugee status later and try to stay for the long term. It’s safe here, and even ordinary factory workers earn good wages.

Dmitry

Moscow

I first heard rumors of mobilization in May or June and didn’t take them seriously. But that changed over time.

My employer was considerate enough to hire a military lawyer to advise my colleagues and me. His conclusion was that no one is safe from mobilization. I, for example, never served in the military, am not registered with a military enlistment office, and am over 30, but I’m still at risk. Afterward, my employer drew up guidelines on how we could protect ourselves from possible mobilization. Moving to another country is just one option.

I’m still not completely sure whether I’ll go. For now, it’s my Plan B. I only recently bought an apartment, and I’m still paying it off. That makes leaving more difficult, but if necessary, I’ll transfer it to my mother and go. Plan A is to enroll in a part-time master’s program. I’m studying for the entrance exams now, and I’ll find out by mid-September whether I’ve been accepted. This option guarantees me nothing — military enlistment officers could simply stop me in the subway, restrain me, and take me away. But enrollment in a master’s program would give a lawyer grounds to demand my release.

If the master’s program doesn’t work out, I’ll go to Armenia. Renting a place in Yerevan would be a little expensive for me, so I’ll head to a smaller city. All I need to be happy is Wi-Fi and a grocery store. I’ll live there for a month or two at first, then see how events unfold. If things go badly — multiple draft notices and criminal charges for evasion — I’ll apply for a digital nomad visa in Spain and move there. I’ve already arranged this with my employer.

I’ve prepared the essential documents: I had my degree apostilled and translated, and I obtained a second passport. I also have a foreign bank card. If I decide to leave, I won’t have much time. I’ll urgently need to transfer my apartment, draw up a general power of attorney, buy tickets, and book accommodations.

Ivan D.

St. Petersburg

I started thinking about moving abroad in February or March 2026, as the number of repressive laws kept growing. You would think that in an election year, the authorities would be trying to make themselves look good. I first heard what sounded like rumors of post-election mobilization in early spring, and I was somewhat skeptical. But I have even less trust in the current government. Perhaps the mobilization will be covert.

Whatever happens, I definitely don’t want to be in Russia watching it unfold. Over time, my friends and I became increasingly certain that we would emigrate. None of us had ever emigrated before.

We’ll go to Georgia first because we can stay there for a long time without dealing with much paperwork. From there, we plan to apply for the United Kingdom’s Global Talent visa, since all of us have accomplishments that could qualify us. Those whose applications are rejected will decide what to do next, but we already have several backup options in mind.

I have almost everything ready for departure. My belongings are packed, my apartment is ready to rent out, my documents have been apostilled, and powers of attorney have been drawn up. The tickets and accommodations are booked. I’m gradually converting my rubles into cash and dollar-pegged cryptocurrency.

Further reading

‘We’re on the Titanic, and it’s just hit the iceberg’ Meduza’s Russian readers explain why they’re not leaving the country.

5 years ago

Leonid

Moscow

As a reserve officer, I have feared mobilization since the war began. At times, that fear has intensified or subsided. By this spring, after assessing the situation, I realized that I probably couldn’t put off deciding whether to emigrate any longer. And mobilization aside, other reasons to move have accumulated — the worsening socioeconomic situation, for example.

I moved to a Central Asian country that I had visited many times for work and vacations. My family hasn’t joined me yet; I’m here with my business partner. We’re developing a platform. My older child will arrive a little later. My wife and I decided that our younger child would finish ninth grade in Russia, after which the two of them would move here as well.

Alexey (name changed)

St. Petersburg

At first, the rumors of possible mobilization seemed baseless. Now I think there’s a fairly high chance that mobilization will happen in some form.

I’ve been thinking about emigrating for a long time, and now everything has come together — both my personal resources and the external threats. I’m turning 30 soon. I’ve only just begun building a family, and I need stability if I’m going to think about having children, for example. I don’t feel that stability in Russia, with its “horror without end.” One reason I’m determined to leave is the simple realization that, if I put in a great deal of effort, emigration offers me a chance to build a normal future. Russia offers no such chance and is unlikely to do so in the future.

I hadn’t emigrated before because I lacked the necessary resources, both financial and emotional.

I left for Serbia in late August, and I see it as a base for the next one to three years. I’m now applying for a residence permit. After that, I’ll see what happens in the world. I don’t plan to settle in Serbia for the rest of my life.

Georgy

Domodedovo, Moscow region

I’m 27 years old. I was born in Domodedovo and have lived here all my life.

Like many people, I think, I gradually began to feel that something bad — a new wave of mobilization — was coming. That feeling probably began in the fall of 2025, when advances on the front began slowing down and the economy noticeably deteriorated. News channels, political bloggers, and experts all began voicing the same concern.

That same fall, I began mentally preparing for the possibility of leaving, just in case. I made the final decision when drones began regularly attacking Moscow and the surrounding region. I saw them above my house. One morning, after explosions had kept me awake all night, I was on my way to work when I looked out from an overpass and saw thick columns of black smoke on the horizon. Wildberries warehouses were burning. That was when I decided I’d had enough and began making concrete preparations to leave. Before that, I had only traveled abroad.

I did everything I could. I built up an emergency fund, bought a powerful laptop, persuaded my employer to let me work remotely, obtained a second passport and apostilles for my documents, and renewed documents that were about to expire.

I’m in Yerevan now. I have friends here, so I’m not alone. I don’t have any firm plans. Preparing to leave and the move itself took an enormous amount out of me. First, I want to get settled here, regain some stability, improve my English, and either find a job abroad or try to start my own business.

Anton

Rostov-on-Don

I wanted to leave even before the war, but something always held me back: prices, a well-paid job with a European company, taxes, my parents, and other relatives.

For a very long time, I told myself that the war would end and then we would start living normally again. At the same time, I couldn’t believe that the country I remembered from before the war had really sunk this low. Russia was never perfect, but it felt as though it was developing, as though you could build something and move forward with the rest of the world.

My wife and I used to travel three or four times a year, and even in 2024 and 2025, returning to Russia felt normal. But after two trips in 2026, coming back became enormously stressful. It felt as though the rest of the world was simply getting on with life. Yes, there are crises, high prices, corruption, and employment problems everywhere, but at least those are ordinary problems people face in life.

The country isn’t merely developing more slowly than the rest of the world — it’s actually moving backward. Instead of wondering what new opportunities will appear in a few years, you wonder which of the things you’re used to will stop working next. For people in IT, this is a particular problem. I don’t even want to complain about VPNs anymore — everyone already knows what’s happening to them. And I don’t need a VPN to look at cat pictures; I need it to do my job properly.

It used to seem as though propaganda existed in a separate sphere and that the people around you understood what was really happening. It doesn’t feel that way anymore.

I have friends from Moscow who work in IT. Some used to work for American companies and were very close to Western culture. Now some of them say, “If you’re not with us, you’re against us. If you don’t like something, leave. If you voice criticism, you’re helping the enemy.” Some now seriously argue that it’s long past time to nuke Kyiv. But overall, the war doesn’t bother them. They go to bars and fly to Turkey and Thailand. One of them came to Taganrog, spent some time living with air-raid sirens and explosions, and decided that Ukraine needed to be bombed even harder.

For the first time, I now realize that even if the war ends tomorrow, almost nothing will return to how it was. The Internet restrictions will remain, international companies are unlikely to resume operations en masse, and militarization isn’t going anywhere — it will probably only intensify. People will return from the war after living for a long time in a completely different reality, accustomed to violence and large payments. I have no idea how they’ll return to ordinary life or where they’ll be able to earn that kind of money.

That is probably the main turning point for me: I used to be afraid that I would leave and then regret it, but now my greatest fear is that I won’t get out in time. The worst part isn’t even mobilization, the crisis, or any specific threat. It’s the feeling that you have become a stranger in your own country and that it’s moving in a completely different direction from where you want to go.

That’s why my wife and I are gathering the documents we need to move to Spain. Applying for residence permits and completing the other formalities will take quite a while, so we expect to move after New Year’s. I hope nothing happens this fall.

Further reading

‘Everyone at home thinks I work for the State Department’ Tens of thousands of Russians have fled to Turkey and Armenia. A new project seeks to ease their transition.

4 years ago

Pavel

St. Petersburg

The rumors of possible mobilization don’t surprise me at all. I feel only the grim certainty that people in this country are treated as worthless: when the authorities need cannon fodder, they get it. Human life is the highest value to me, so the authorities and I are going our separate ways. I don’t want to kill people. When did we incur such a debt to this country, and what for?

I have emigrated before, but only for four months, when I lived in Turkey. I don’t want to move until I have all my documents. But if the situation begins changing quickly, I’ll try to get a five-year passport on short notice, just so I can leave and sort everything out once I’m abroad.

I’ve already had my degrees apostilled, applied for a new passport and driver’s license after mine unexpectedly went “missing under unknown circumstances,” drawn up a general power of attorney for people close to me, and requested a criminal record certificate.

I’m not even considering any CIS country. I’m thinking more about Vietnam as an initial destination. After that, I may move to Indonesia, where Russian banks’ UnionPay cards work perfectly, and it is easier to obtain legal residency than in many other countries. Then I’ll consider a permanent move to Australia. But everything will depend on the situation in Russia — I may return.

Fyodor (name changed)

Kazan

I’m not seriously considering moving to another country right now, barring extreme scenarios such as a hybrid or full-scale civil war in Russia, a revolution involving mass violence, famine, or the complete collapse of the ruble.

I have emigrated before — I lived in Israel for almost two years. I didn’t like it at all, though not because it was expensive. My wife and I had money then and still do. There were other reasons.

Even so, I’m prepared. My new passport is almost ready, and I have the necessary money, apostilled documents, packed suitcases, and a clear plan of action.

One thing I know for certain is that I’m unhappy with the way European Union authorities treat Russians. For example, I was outraged by the European Court of Human Rights’ recent refusal to consider complaints from Russians.

I do, however, like the Armenian government’s approach: it is guided by practical considerations, not ideologically charged narratives. [If we move there,] my wife will be able to find a skilled job in Armenia, while I plan to work remotely.

But the move wouldn’t be long-term. I love Russia very much, value the history of Russia’s democratic movements, and remember times and events when it seemed that our beautiful future Russia was just around the corner — if only we pushed a little harder.

I’m not going to give up. Nor do I believe that my generation, born in the 1990s, has lost or that we will never again have a historic opportunity to fix Russia.