How artists in exile are becoming a focal point for the Russian diaspora abroad
Screenshot of the Russia Post website. Fair use.
This article by sociologist Anna Kuleshova, writing for Russia Post, spotlights Russian artists in exile, who, while dealing with the challenges faced by all emigrants, have managed to unite many of their compatriots living abroad and are changing the public image of their home country. An edited version is republished by Global Voices with permission from Russia Post.
In the interviews I conduct with Russians who left their country after the start of the Ukraine war, one of the frequent and painful stories is that of losing or changing professions in emigration.
Who needs Russian-language art outside of Russia? How is it even possible if the country has been “cancelled?”
There are several million Russians living outside of Russia, including emigrants from different historical periods and their descendants. This is several million potential Russian-speaking consumers of cultural products, not to mention those who left after the start of the war and so-called “partial mobilization,” as well as foreigners who are interested in Russian art, even if it is not their native language.
Russians outside of their country do not always form neat diasporas and sometimes do not communicate with one another at all. In France, a respondent told me about a problem that he encountered at a wedding; it turns out that you cannot seat Russians from different waves of emigration at the same table, lest a scandal should erupt.
Often, Russian communities in host countries are virtual, forming around Telegram chats, as well as professional identity (“IT workers”) and volunteer assistance. In other cases, what brings them together are the stage, art spaces and creative projects.
Because Russians do not live compactly in a single place, artist groups in exile are forced to drop any dreams of having their own venue and performing on the main stage and “Uberize” their contact with the audience. “You need theater? We will come to you.”
The latest wave of Russian emigration is sometimes compared with the White exodus after the Bolshevik Revolution, and it is expected to bring no less benefit to the host countries than those who left a century ago.
Back then, for example, Serbia emerged as a major beneficiary, with architects, doctors and other specialists from Russia flocking there. Today, Montenegro and Armenia have received significant economic benefits from the Russian IT sector. France and the UK issue talent visas to Russians, still remembering the cultural influence of those like Mikhail (“Michael”) Chekhov and Nikita Balieff, among many others.
The high expectations are partially justified: Russian emigrants contribute to scientific research in host countries, as well as such areas as evidence-based medicine, the IT sector and the creative industry. New theaters have emerged abroad, such as The Chaika, which in its first season put on 38 performances in Lisbon, Paris and Luxembourg (this author helped organize the tour in Luxembourg).
This troupe, like their predecessors a century ago, preserves Russian culture — that part of it that first, the Soviet government tried to ban and now independent Russia is trying to “cancel.”[GV: Meaning people who oppose the government but have a lot to contribute]
Such Russian-speaking cultural communities are being supported not only by emigrants from earlier waves, patrons of the arts, charitable foundations and local governments but also by highly educated professionals who have recently left Russia.
One of my interviewees in Armenia told me that he and his colleagues had created an artist collective whose business idea was piano, vocal and painting lessons. When asked about the target audience, he said they were counting on IT specialists and their families, who, having left the familiar educational and cultural milieu of Russian big cities (“millioniki”), are searching for a replacement in their new places of residence.
New social circles often form around artists in exile, offering emigrants a chance to connect with like-minded people and escape loneliness, anxiety and fear. They attract those who define themselves not only as Russians but also as “people with a common destiny.”
Those artists who, though rejecting the official ideology of modern Russia, have decided not to emigrate are helping their antiwar and antiregime compatriots inside the country to survive these hard times: people unite around “their” musicians and artists at private art venues and play readings, while also following the creative projects of Russians who left.
Artists who find themselves outside of Russia are not always able to put aside fear and feel free. The official Russian press often writes about them in offensive, threatening language.
Most Russians of the latest emigration wave left with only their “internal” Russian documents — without passports of other countries, a financial cushion or an idea of where they would work (except for IT specialists, many of whom were relocated abroad by their employers). Art workers are no exception.
Typically, emigrants have relatives and property back in Russia, which makes them vulnerable to the authorities.
In addition, the policies of host countries can change unpredictably, forcing Russians to move out (for example, Turkey has been clamping down on immigration). My interviewees have lived in an average of three to four countries in the last two and a half years.
It is impossible to be sure that you will not suddenly find yourself without a valid residence permit or access to money (for example, foreign banks have refused to service clients from Russia for fear of secondary sanctions). If you fail to find a stable job abroad, you will have to return to Russia. The same is true if your “internal” passport expires, as you can only get a new one in Russia — Russian embassies issue only “foreign” passports.
And the hardest choice of all: a relative or friend falls ill, and you need to go back, but you have already written a lot online condemning the regime and the war.
Against this backdrop, artists find themselves in a particularly precarious situation, especially if they are not stars or part of famous troupes, like the singers Zemfira and Monetochka, director Kirill Serebryannikov or comedian Viktor Shenderovich.
Russian emigrants in general and their host countries expect artists to take a bold and public stand against the war, but lesser-known artists and new artist collectives are racked by insecurity: they face the task not only of reaching their artistic potential but also of just surviving each day, meaning obtaining legal status in their host country. Meanwhile, it usually takes at least five years to obtain citizenship of another country, only after which exiled Russians feel secure and free from dependence on Russia.
Despite all these challenges, it is contemporary Russian art in exile that is becoming the public face of the Russia that is banned in its homeland, persecuted by the Russian authorities and reviled by Kremlin propagandists. Art in exile reminds the world that — like any other country — Russia is multifaceted, and even in the most difficult situations, there are people with whom dialogue is possible.