At the event held on 28 February 2026 at the Prapopoulou Estate squat, we read out the answers of a Russian deserter to the questions we had sent him through comrades from the Olga Taratuta Initiative, and we are publishing them here. We should note that the questions in this interview are addressed to both Russian and Ukrainian deserters or draft resisters, even though, at this stage, the answers come from a Russian deserter.
[Deserters of Capitalist Peace]
/ Česky /
1. At what stage did you desert? Before being officially called up, from a recruitment/training center or from the front? Had you completed your military service before the war? How long have you been away?
I deserted after I had already been sent to the war zone. For about six months I was at the front, working inside the headquarters — not in a trench every day, but still inside the military system, inside the war. I had already completed my compulsory military service before the full-scale invasion, so when the war started I understood very well what the army is and how it functions. Those six months were the time when everything became clear to me. You see the reality from the inside — not the propaganda, not the television picture. You see how people are treated, how decisions are made, and what this war actually means for ordinary soldiers. From that moment I was just waiting for a real chance to leave. That chance came with my first official leave after half a year. It was the first time I could get out legally and without immediate suspicion. I used that moment to leave Russia and not come back. So my desertion was not an impulsive act — it was a conscious decision that I carried with me for months while I was still inside the system. Since then I have been away for more than a year. And for me this is not only about saving myself. It was a refusal to take part in a war that I do not believe in and did not want to support in any way. Leaving was the only way to stay honest with myself and to keep control over my own life.
2. What kind of work did you do before you left? Did the situation regarding jobs and wages change because of the war in your country? What is the situation like after four years of war?
Before the war I had a very typical working-class path, but at the same time I was trying to build something of my own. I worked in sales, I did construction jobs, I repaired washing machines, coffee machines and plastic windows — whatever allowed me to earn and stay independent. My last job before the war was actually my own small business. I was selling clothes through Instagram. It was not a big company, but it was something I created myself, from scratch. It gave me a feeling that my future depended on my own work and my own decisions, not on the state or on the army. After the war started, the situation with jobs changed dramatically. More and more of the economy became connected to the military sector. Defence production started to grow and in many places it became the only area where wages were increasing. In civilian industries the opposite was happening — salaries stopped growing, and in some cases even went down. And this was in a country where real income had already been stagnating for years. Now, after four years of war, we are looking at an economy that is deeply militarised. A huge number of people depend directly on military production for their survival. For many families this is the only available work. And this creates a very serious long-term problem. When the war ends, it will not be enough just to stop the fighting. Entire sectors will have to be reduced or transformed, and millions of workers may lose their jobs at the same time. These are people who will suddenly be left without income, without stability and without any clear perspective. So the war destroys not only lives at the front. It also destroys normal economic life and the possibility for people to build something of their own — the way I was trying to do before everything collapsed.
3. What means were used for recruitment at the time you left? Were they digital or more “traditional”? In what ways can someone avoid being recruited? How do you hide?
First of all, it is important to understand that at the moment there is no open mass mobilisation in the same form as in 2022. But what we see instead is a constant and growing pressure on different groups of the population to sign military contracts. This pressure is especially strong on students. They are often given an artificial “choice”: either you sign a contract or you suddenly face serious problems with your studies — you can be expelled, you can lose your dormitory, you can lose your future profession. Formally it looks voluntary, but in reality an entire infrastructure is being built where signing a contract becomes the only way to avoid conflict with the university, with your family, and with society. For a young person this psychological pressure is extremely powerful. Recruitment works through both traditional and digital means. On the streets you see posters, banners, leaflets — the visual presence of the war is everywhere. At the same time, online there is an enormous amount of targeted advertising and propaganda that presents military service as something prestigious, heroic and socially approved. So people are not usually taken directly from the street — the system works in a more sophisticated way. It creates living conditions where refusing becomes risky and socially painful. In some cases, people are also afraid of fabricated criminal charges or administrative pressure, where they are told: prison or a contract. Even if this does not happen to everyone, the possibility itself creates fear and pushes people toward what is presented as the “safe” option. Because of this, there is no universal way to “hide”. Everything depends on a person’s individual situation — their education, their job, their family, their access to documents. For many people the main strategy is simply trying to stay outside of the structures where this pressure becomes direct. So recruitment today is less about physical force and more about economic pressure, social control and propaganda. And this makes it in some ways even more effective, because it creates the illusion that the decision is voluntary.
4. What consequences do you face in everyday life and at work when you avoid recruitment?
In everyday life, avoiding recruitment does not always lead to immediate criminal punishment — at least not yet. The pressure is mostly social, economic and psychological. You can face disapproval from people around you. Someone may tell you that you are living a normal life while “real men” are at the front. This kind of moral pressure is very common and it affects families, workplaces and social circles. It creates a feeling that you constantly have to justify your decision simply to live a civilian life. The more serious problem is indirect pressure. If the war continues, the economic situation is increasingly structured in such a way that military service becomes one of the few stable sources of income. For many people the choice is not between war and peace — it is between signing a contract and not being able to support your family. So even without formal coercion, the system pushes people toward the army. At the moment, those who avoid signing contracts can still try to stay in civilian life. But there is a strong sense that this space is shrinking. Many people believe that the so-called “voluntary” recruitment resource is not unlimited, and that at some point the state may again move toward harsher forms of mobilisation. And this expectation itself already shapes everyday life. People live with the constant feeling that the rules can change at any moment — that what is technically allowed today may become punishable tomorrow. So the main consequence is not only the risk of future repression. It is the atmosphere of uncertainty, social pressure and economic dependence, where remaining a civilian becomes more and more difficult and requires constant personal resistance.
5. Before the war, how did you think about the army and desertion? What pushed you to decide to leave?
Before the war my attitude toward the army and the government was already quite sceptical. In Russia every man has to serve one compulsory year when he turns eighteen. I did this service in full, and that experience shaped my view very strongly. I saw an institution that was not preparing people for real defence, not giving meaningful training, and not respecting soldiers’ time or dignity. For a whole year we were mostly doing useless routines that had nothing to do with actual military professionalism. It felt like a lost year of life. At the same time, I grew up in a political reality where nothing really changed. I was born when Putin was already in power, and he is still in power today. So my distrust toward the state was not something that appeared suddenly in 2022 — it had been forming for many years. But before the war I never thought about desertion. Like many people, I saw it as something abstract, something that happens to someone else. When the invasion started, at first I was still looking at it in a very rational and even technical way. From my previous experience I knew the real condition of the Russian army, and I did not believe in the image of a fast and easy victory. When I later found myself inside the system, at the front, it became absolutely clear how unprepared, disorganised and inefficient it was — despite all the resources. You see that the army cannot properly supply itself, cannot organise itself, and very often has no clear tactics except sending more and more people forward. And at that moment the question becomes not political but deeply personal: what is your role in this? My decision to leave was not made in one day. It was the result of everything I had seen before — my compulsory service, my distrust of the system, and then the direct experience of the war from the inside. Step by step I understood that staying meant becoming part of something I did not believe in and did not want to support in any way. Leaving was the only way to remain honest with myself.
6. If the war ends, do you think about returning? If yes, how do you feel about returning?
This is a question I think about a lot, and the honest answer is that it depends on many things. The most important condition would be a real political change and a full amnesty for all those who refused to participate in the war. Without that, returning would simply mean going to prison. But even if such changes happened, time is also a crucial factor. If it takes ten years, by that moment my life will already be built somewhere else. I will have a new language, new work, new social connections. Going back would not mean “coming home” — it would mean starting from zero once again. I have already had to rebuild my life once, and it is a very difficult process. I am not sure I would have the strength or the desire to do it again. There is also the question of trust. Russia is a very unpredictable country. Even if an amnesty is officially announced and the political situation changes, there is no guarantee that these decisions will be permanent or that they will actually be respected in practice. For someone in my position, this uncertainty is not theoretical — it is a direct personal risk. So emotionally, of course, the idea of returning home is important. Home is not just a place — it is your language, your memories, your past. But when I think about it in real, practical terms, I understand that most likely I will not have a safe and realistic opportunity to return. And this is one of the hardest consequences of this war — it takes away not only your present, but also your future and your connection to the place where you were born.
7. Beyond desertion, is there a collective anti-war movement that is active ;in Russia or in Ukraine right now? If so, in which cities is it most present, and what are its main characteristics? Do you know whether women are organizing anti-war protests? What do they usually demand? Do they play a significant role in preventing basification, i.e. in the case of Ucraine ?
At the very beginning of the war there was a visible and active anti-war movement in Russia. There were mass street protests in many cities — Moscow, Saint Petersburg and others — and a lot of public statements from activists, journalists and ordinary people. But the state reacted extremely quickly and very harshly. Thousands of people were detained, many received criminal charges, independent organisations were destroyed, and public anti-war activity became almost impossible. Because of this, the movement did not disappear — it changed its form and became much less visible. Today, open protest in the streets is practically suicidal from a legal point of view. A single public action can immediately lead to a criminal case and a long prison sentence. That is why most anti-war activity is now individual, local, anonymous or happening in exile. One of the most important and visible initiatives inside the country during the war was the movement of the wives and relatives of mobilised soldiers. These were not political activists in the classical sense — they were ordinary women who demanded rotation, proper training, equipment and the return of their husbands. Their protests showed how deep the social tension is. But even this very careful and limited form of protest was gradually suppressed and pushed out of the public space. So women have played a significant role — not through large political organisations, but through these grassroots initiatives based on care, survival and the protection of their families. Today, if we speak about public anti-war structures inside Russia, they are extremely fragmented and forced to operate in conditions of fear and repression. The price of open opposition is prison, and everyone understands it. That is why the absence of mass protests does not mean support for the war. It means that the state has made open collective action almost impossible.
8. What problems do you face as a fugitive from Ukraine/ Russia ? Is there a solidarity network among fugitives where you are now? Or a network of locals who support refugees from Russia/Ukraine like yourself?
To be honest, the reality here turned out to be much better than what I had imagined when I was still planning my escape. Before leaving, I expected constant difficulties, hostility and isolation. But when I arrived, I discovered a huge amount of solidarity. I met many people who were ready to help, support and simply treat me as a human being. I have never faced open condemnation or aggression because of my story. The main challenges are not social — they are bureaucratic. Learning how the system works, how to communicate with institutions, how to deal with documents — all of this was difficult at the beginning, because it is very different from Russia. You feel that you have to rebuild your life from zero in a completely new environment. At the same time, there is a real network of solidarity. Among Russian refugees, among Ukrainians, and among local people, I constantly feel support. There is a shared understanding that this war is a tragedy for everyone, and a shared desire to help those who refused to participate in it. This creates a space where you don’t feel alone. The situation is more complicated for Ukrainian deserters. Not because of ordinary people — on the contrary, at the human level there is a lot of empathy — but because of the legal and political framework in many European countries. For them it is much harder to obtain protection, and many are forced to remain invisible and live in fear. This makes their position far more precarious. So my main problem is not hostility — it is the long and difficult process of building a new life in exile. But what makes this possible is the solidarity I experience every day, from different sides and from very different people.