Ivan joined the protests sparked by Alexei Navalny, the Russian opposition figure now jailed in a Siberian prison. He acted not as a party member but as a citizen who could no longer stand the systemic corruption that many believed was validated by a so‑called electoral fraud that helped Vladimir Putin secure another term. He was placed on the police list for preventing extremism, and later, he faced extortion attempts from strangers who offered a vast sum in exchange for silence or threatened to expose him as gay in a country where a public kiss on the main square could result in years behind bars or violent backlash. He also carried a role in an international conservation program during a visit to Valencia in 2019.
Alona was a Moscow schoolteacher whose experience under a government that tightened control after enacting a law in 2012 targeting propaganda about unconventional relationships left her vulnerable. When it emerged that she was bisexual, she lost her job and found herself blacklisted by authorities. The pressure escalated from threatening calls from parents to anonymous threats that included her home address. She eventually fled Russia in 2014 to seek safety elsewhere.
The announcement of a broader mobilization by the Putin administration prompted a mass exodus as people crossed borders to avoid conscription, triggering a new wave of displacement. Russia has a history of human rights erosion since 2012, and this year saw sweeping restrictions on demonstrations and a chilling law penalizing the spread of what the regime deemed false information about military actions. This climate pushed many journalists and other dissidents into exile across neighboring nations as borders closed and media outlets faced censorship.
Speaking on the ground, Iván described the risk of protest as a public gamble: two days in holding or a civil suit carrying potential prison time, with harsher penalties for feminists or political critics. The law channels an atmosphere of stigma, effectively branding those who advocate for LGBTQ+ rights and other minority voices. The result is a society that can feel isolating and hostile to dissenters.
Alona noted that Valencia began to see its first wave of exiles around 2013, with translators and advocacy workers helping newcomers navigate international protection systems. The early arrivals were mostly LGBTQ+ individuals and political dissidents fleeing persecution. The numbers stayed relatively steady until February 2022, when the war intensified and a new wave of exiles—especially journalists—began arriving. Today, many are seeking asylum and awaiting processing in a climate of ongoing uncertainty about visa access and relocation options.
“My student visa is running out and I can’t go back”
Ana completed a two‑year master’s program at the University of Valencia. While in Moscow, she hoped to establish a life with her partner in Valencia, but a one‑year window for job searching proved insufficient after an immigration denial. Her partner now faces a similar barrier, and returning to Russia would pose professional and personal risks. The situation is tense, and the couple is weighing the best path forward under international protection rules that prevent sending refugees back to countries at war.
Ana explains the difficulty of staying in a place where the home country’s atmosphere remains restrictive and where the political climate stifles dissent. She notes a shortage of essential medicines at home and a diminished chance to raise voices publicly. In light of the broader conflict, returning seems imprudent as the country is actively engaged in war. The case letters a pattern echoed by many who seek protection outside their homeland, illustrating how international law can protect people when their safety is at stake.
Experts say that many individuals in Ana’s situation may qualify for asylum processing at authorized police stations, provided they can demonstrate that their lives are in danger. For couples like Ana and her partner, the ability to remain in a host country often hinges on the interpretation of their risks and the capacity of the system to accommodate their status without forcing return to danger. The discussion also touches on how other displaced groups, such as Ukrainians who arrived when the war began, required swift and careful assessment of protection needs to ensure safety and dignity.
The lack of consistent appointments for asylum and immigration offices has made regulation cumbersome in Valencia, contributing to the feeling of being stuck in limbo. Immigration authorities and local legal associations acknowledge the growing number of displaced Russians and worry about future demand for asylum, asylum support, and visa options in neighboring states as people seek safer routes. Some experts suggest new migration pathways might emerge through neighboring countries, with the aim of reaching places where visas can be obtained and protection can be accessed more readily.
For Ana and her family, the social climate in Russia remains oppressive, with close relatives living under constant fear of protest enforcement. The fear extends to international borders, where arriving Russians are scrutinized for their views on the occupation and on the broader geopolitical situation. The overall sense shared by many refugees is that the path ahead is uncertain, but there is also cautious optimism that the course of the conflict could shift in favor of peace and stability, allowing those displaced to rebuild their lives with dignity.
As the war unfolds, both the humanitarian response and legal frameworks are tested by the sheer scale of displacement. The dissident community and allies continue to advocate for protection and fair treatment, emphasizing the importance of asylum procedures that prioritize safety for those in danger while recognizing the complexities faced by families trying to stay together across borders. The hope remains that Ukraine’s resilience and international support could shift perceptions and reinforce the hope that political change can come without sacrificing the lives and freedom of innocent people, including students, teachers, translators, and activists who have chosen to speak out despite the risks.