Russian exiles face ongoing threats abroad

The New York Times features that the alarming reality faced by Russians living abroad has come to light, revealing the ongoing threats from the Kremlin even outside its borders. 

In November 2022, my editors advised me to be cautious about my food choices and to stop ordering takeout. At first, I didn't think much of their warning, but that changed dramatically when, just a month later, my colleague Elena Kostyuchenko revealed she had been poisoned in Germany, likely as part of an assassination attempt by the Russian government.

Such incidents have become alarmingly commonplace. Last year, investigative journalist Alesya Marokhovskaya faced harassment in the Czech Republic, and in February, the bullet-riddled body of Russian defector Maxim Kuzminov was discovered in Spain, with the Kremlin suspected in both cases. Russian opposition figures understand all too well that even in exile, they remain targets of Russian intelligence.

However, it's not just prominent figures at risk. Hundreds of thousands of Russians have fled their homeland, either rejecting Vladimir Putin’s war or being forced out for not supporting it enough. These less-visible dissenters also face surveillance and kidnapping, yet their oppression often goes unnoticed and occurs with the tacit approval—or inadequate action—of the countries that have offered them refuge. It is a chilling reality: The Kremlin is actively pursuing ordinary citizens worldwide, and the indifference to their plight is staggering. Since the onset of the war in Ukraine, I've been collecting information about Russia's targeting of exiles. My sources include individuals who have experienced abductions and surveillance, as well as leaders of Russian diasporas and a few human rights activists who support them.

Many spoke to me under the condition of anonymity to avoid repercussions. The Kremlin, of course, denies any involvement, typically claiming it cannot comment on incidents in other countries. However, the evidence continues to accumulate. There’s a vocal coach who was arrested in Kazakhstan at Moscow's behest and subsequently went insane in local custody. A caregiver for the elderly was detained in Montenegro on Russian orders, executed through Interpol. A schoolteacher was apprehended by Armenian border guards for discussing Russia's actions in Bucha. Among those ensnared in the Kremlin's web are a toy shop owner, an industrial climber, and a punk rocker—all scattered around the globe.

This is a truly international operation. In the UK, exiles are being surveilled, and opposition events in London are reportedly swarming with agents who are easily identifiable, according to anti-Kremlin activist Ksenia Maximova. Russian intelligence personnel are also active in monitoring diasporas in Germany, Poland, and Lithuania, as noted by lawyer Evgeny Smirnov, who specializes in treason and espionage cases. Reports of stalking and threats against emigrants have emerged from cities like Rome, Paris, Prague, and Istanbul, and the list continues to grow. Some methods employed by Russian authorities are particularly nefarious. Lev Gyammer, an exiled activist in Poland, has been receiving texts for two years that appear to be from his mother. Messages like, “Levushka, son, I miss you so much. When will you visit?” or “Son, I’m waiting for you. Come back soon,” are chilling reminders.

He ignores them, knowing that his mother, Olga, passed away five years ago. In another case, a Russian expatriate with elderly, ailing parents believed a long-time nurse when she claimed there was a fire in their apartment. He hurried back from Finland, only to be arrested and tortured, as Mr. Smirnov revealed. There was never a fire. For those who can’t be lured back to Russia, surveillance becomes a constant threat. A staff member from an organization supporting LGBTQ individuals in Tbilisi, Georgia, noticed a drone trailing her while walking her dog one evening in early May—two years since she and her colleagues had fled Russia. She rushed home to hide in her apartment but still heard the drone buzzing nearby. When she went to the balcony, she found the device hovering just within reach. Host countries often play a role in this harassment. In some instances, local police even conduct surveillance for their Russian counterparts. In Kazakhstan, local special services assist Russia in tracking down draft dodgers, while in Kyrgyzstan, police employ facial recognition technology to seek out individuals wanted by the Kremlin, forcing some to flee to the mountains, according to various advocacy groups.

Even when local authorities aren’t actively aiding Russian surveillance, they are frequently slow to intervene. This was the situation faced by Sergei Podsytnik, a journalist investigating the military connections between Russia and Iran. In March of this year, feeling buoyed by news of sanctions against a drone factory he had exposed, he was returning to his room in Duisburg, Germany. Before going into exile, Podsytnik had been part of Alexei Navalny’s opposition network and had developed a habit of checking for followers. As he approached his door, he casually glanced back and spotted a stranger lurking nearby, tracking his every move. Podsytnik’s colleague also noticed they were being watched by the same individual, but it took two requests for local authorities to initiate an investigation. 

By Naila Huseynova