I looked at the poll results regarding the reasons why my readers are staying in Russia.
What pleases me most is that the smallest category is currently under a direct travel ban. For the vast majority, the path of retreat is at least not under fire.
I am equally pleased by the agorists who managed to find an excuse to avoid mobilization. I hope it is a good, high-quality excuse.
Those who are already packing their bags have surely studied the issue well and know where to go. There is plenty of material on emigration; while waiting for a foreign passport and other papers, one can study it inside and out.
Partisans, I am proud of you. You already have over a year of combat experience, and you certainly have no need for my advice. From time to time, something in Russia mysteriously burns or explodes, certain unpleasant individuals run into trouble, including fatal outcomes, secret information doesn’t stay within the narrow circle of authorized holders for long, the morale of the troops is low, state-sponsored patriots are eating each other, and so on. If any of you had a hand in any of this, or in something not covered by my imagination—I don’t want to know anything about it until the war ends or your evacuation is complete.
Now a few words of consolation for the lazy and those bound by insurmountable domestic difficulties. It is very unlikely that the rate of producing corpses and cripples on the front among Russians will exceed three hundred thousand people per year. Thus, even if the mobilization potential of the RF is only thirty million, the state will consume only one percent of those liable for military service per year. So, out of the hundred or so who answered that they intend to remain in the RF, only one or two people will die or be crippled in the war in a year. This is a good chance for survival, enough to keep from shaking with fear. I would shake with disgust, but that is a matter of habit. Nevertheless, I recommend buying bitcoins at every opportunity: if the rate skyrockets, perhaps you will reconsider your ambitions and finally head abroad.
Of course, the main reason not to go anywhere is the fear of the unknown. How to legalize oneself, how to live, how much will have to be spent, how to get money, how long one will have to live in such a suspended state—this worries many even more than they want to show.
I’ll try to share my experience.
It is believed that it is easiest for remote IT workers to emigrate. This is true. I am still sincerely surprised why even one IT worker remained in the RF. These gluttonous creatures have driven apartment rental prices into the sky and still dare to grumble that the level of service abroad is somehow worse than in Moscow. Even if another hundred thousand of them crowd into tiny Montenegro and prices double again from current levels—even then they will be able to live in comfort, denying themselves very little, while all other immigrants will have to pack their bags and migrate to Africa, or wherever else is relatively cheap.
Without IT skills, I was lucky enough to find a remote job requiring only basic computer literacy. ChatGPT cannot replace me, but a well-designed dispatch program could; however, it is easier to pay me 700 euros a month than an entire team of developers for such a program, so I don’t have to worry about my employment. Nevertheless, there isn’t much work of this sort, and without it, I would have to work offline and with my hands, which, however, is not a great tragedy. If you are not an IT worker, it is better to orient yourself toward such an outcome from the start.
To make ends meet, many immigrants rent apartments as a group of friends. This is very sensible. Concerns about privacy and domestic frictions take a back seat compared to the savings achieved. In the RF, I never lived with any one person for more than six months—tensions built up, and we gradually drifted apart. Here I have already broken that record: I have no time for petty whims, you know. Those who have experience living in a dormitory already have a head start.
There is another obvious pattern. On one hand, the further away, the more obstacles await new immigrants. This includes a higher cost of living and the increasing complexity of legalization in a new country. On the other hand, the further away, the fewer resources the average new immigrant has: Russia is getting poorer, it is becoming harder to sell property there for a good price before leaving, and so on. Therefore, the fact that the flow of refugees from the RF does not dwindle is only because the Russian state makes staying in the RF unbearable at a rate even higher than the rate of citizens’ impoverishment. Conclusion: if you leave now, it will be easier for you than if you leave in six months. Second conclusion: at some point, it will become almost impossible to leave the RF, even if you want to very badly.
In 2021, I went to Montenegro simply because an interesting project came up—let’s, they said, build a libertarian community here and create a kind of European New Hampshire (in American New Hampshire, as I recently heard, a former member of the LPR is sitting in the state congress). And the weakness of COVID restrictions also played a part (remember, there was this COVID, under whose pretext all states competed in who could ruin their subjects’ lives in the most absurd way). I rented the cheapest studio for 120 euros a month and received a residence permit just two months after arriving—actually two weeks later than established by government regulations, about which I even had the audacity to grumble. Now this same studio is rented to someone else for 200. After applying for a residence permit extension in June, I received the new document only in November, and I still haven’t been able to open a bank account for the company I acquired—I am literally not being given the opportunity to pay taxes, damn it. Those who arrive right now simply cannot physically apply for a residence permit—the queue starts at nine in the evening the night before; few can endure such a thing.
If I were deciding right now which country to flee to from Russia with my background and current job, I would probably settle on Kyrgyzstan, because Montenegro is already too lavish and too much of a headache. Kyrgyzstan also has mountains, also a sea (of possibilities), also plenty of Russian speakers, also meat cuisine, also people friendly to immigrants, also an unstable government—but at the same time, life is cheaper, and it seems slightly easier with the bureaucratic red tape.
And if I decided to go specifically to Montenegro right now—since there is no Montelibero in Kyrgyzstan—I would no longer count on any residence permit, but would simply do visa-runs every month—to Albania in the summer, to Serbia in the winter. Or maybe I’d just forget about it and live as an illegal. As long as you don’t try to cross the border, no one cares about the legality of your residence status. And when you try, and they pick on you—the maximum risk is a fine and a six-month ban on entry.
Forgive the awkwardly long and rambling post; I just wanted to vent. I simply believe it is important to support my readers, wherever they are stuck right now, and whatever status they hold. Even if you didn’t escape and ended up at the front—well, shoot something off of yourself, something not too vital for life, but necessary to fight. There is always a way out.