“Listen, do you respect Lenin?”
The father of 25-year-old Krasnodar resident Matvey Rizhanin obtained Polish citizenship a few years ago and relocated to Warsaw. Since then, Matvey has visited his father twice — and both visits ended painfully for him.
“I’m not sure if I’m simply unlucky or if the country itself isn’t mine,” he remarks.
Two years ago, when Matvey first traveled to Poland and went to a bar with a Polish-speaking friend, locals reacted poorly to his Lenin T-shirt.
“It felt foolish to ask, ‘Do you respect Lenin?’ They glared at us after I told the bartender we were Russian. We would end up lingering on the lawn near the bar, and the evening would finish inside the emergency department as a group,” he explains.
This year, Rizhanin visited Poland again after the onset of the special operations in Ukraine in May.
“I went to a store last night. He was speaking Russian on the phone as I walked by. To go to the 24-hour market, you must cross a football field where two men were kicking a ball. I spoke loudly enough and they called me over. They asked in English if I was Russian or Ukrainian. Is it Russian? The men approached, but for some reason my instincts failed, so I started talking to them.”
In two minutes, he says, he was confronted. “I understood I was being paid to ‘kill Ukrainians.’ Thankful to stay alive, but the encounter left a mark.”
From his own experience, he notes that the hostility he faced in Poland did not stem from a broad anti-Russian stance but emerged from a wider social environment. “My father avoided such problems. It didn’t escalate into direct hostility, but the atmosphere matters. People expect that aggressive behavior or extremism linked to football scenes could occur,” he says.
“I was not afraid to say that I am Russian. Everywhere except Lithuania”
Nelli Odintsova, 26, has been traveling through Europe with a partner since May 21. Their journey took them to Vilnius in Lithuania, Groningen and The Hague in the Netherlands, Koblenz and Überlingen in Germany, Arosa in Switzerland, and Arko and Limon in Italy.
“In the Netherlands, once people learned I was Russian, they reacted with sympathy and concern for the plight of my countrymen. They did not portray Russians as the ultimate villains, which surprised me and eased my worries before the trip.”
Germany was similarly welcoming. Odintsova reports meeting women who were learning Russian and enjoyed conversing with a native speaker. They were curious about her origins, and the dialogue felt friendly. Swiss acquaintances identified themselves proudly as Rusken and inquired about Siberia, sparking a short conversation about Russia’s far reaches. In Italy, discussions about the special operation were rare or absent.
Odintsova notes that in most places she did not feel pressure; rather, there was a sense of restraint. In some countries, people avoided approaching someone who spoke Russian, given the current climate. Overall, she found the European response mostly supportive and empathetic, with Lithuania standing out as a notable exception.
In Lithuania, hotel staff sometimes treated her with cold courtesy, omitting typical greetings or goodbyes shown to other guests. She observed a contrasting courtesy among Canadian travelers who were treated more warmly as they passed through the lobby. A later encounter with a bus driver in Lithuania was tense, a reminder that the current tensions can permeate everyday interactions. Odintsova attributes this friction partly to the broader regional context and not solely to the special operation, noting that hostility toward Russians existed before the latest events.
“Very painful for the country”
Thirty-year-old Nastya Nikayeva traveled to England in May. Her friend invited her to a wedding in the city of Lewis, where she spent most of her time in London. She encountered no overt negativity, though the visit carried an undercurrent of discomfort in certain moments.
There is a custom in England of thanking all guests and listing their origins. At the wedding, Nikayeva recognized only the groom and a handful of his guests, while many attendees were strangers to her. When the group began listing other nations, she feared an awkward silence would fall during the mention of Russia. The moment felt painful for her, as it underscored the distance between Russia and the rest of the world in that setting. She describes the experience as deeply painful for the country and not something she wishes to endure again.
“There are better things to do in Africa”
Yevgeny Mironov, 23, was in Kampala, Uganda, from March to April this year. Local media covered the special operation with varying intensity, while many Ugandans consumed international news in English that reflected different perspectives on the Ukrainian position. Occasionally, the Russian ambassador or President Vladimir Putin was cited, but such mentions were infrequent during the stay.
Ugandan citizens did not seem preoccupied with the conflict. For about two and a half weeks, the most discussed topics related to the local economy, including rising food and fuel prices amid sanctions. When President Yoweri Museveni cautioned the public about price increases linked to global events, the opposition quickly framed it as an internal crisis, amplifying the debate about Russia and the West. Overall, Mironov observed that attitudes toward Russia, Ukraine, and Russians varied little in Africa; people tended to view concerns about distant issues as secondary to immediate daily priorities.
He summarized the sentiment among Africans as: many see the white population as a source of money and a single, global image. The location of origin within Europe or Russia did not significantly alter that perception. He concluded that more immediate concerns tend to dominate daily life in Africa, leaving the broader geopolitical conflict secondary to practical matters.