Artists and Activists Quit Russia
Russian artist Pyotr Pavlensky leaves a Moscow courtroom on June 8, 2016. [Pavel Golovkin/AP Photo]
Two weeks ago, Vlad Ketkovich and his family left their home in Moscow and boarded a one-way flight to Istanbul. Ketkovich is a filmmaker and producer whose work has criticized the Russian government, and his wife is an activist and outspoken opponent of Vladimir Putin.
In the days prior to their departure, the family watched Putin launch his war in Ukraine, and their world started to crumble. With rumors spreading that the government might soon close the country’s borders, the family left everything behind to flee to France, where a friend offered them a room in his apartment in a small town about 25 miles from Paris. All four members of the family are now sharing a single room, but, as Vlad told me, “This is wonderful, because at least we are safe, and we are not in Russia anymore.”
We spoke about how the war is transforming Russia and what it took to leave.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
What have the past few weeks been like for you? When did you decide to leave?
Before we left, I was working as a line producer on a film about Indigenous people facing global warming. The director, who is in Canada, wanted to record material in Russia, and so we went to the Republic of Tuva – where Putin also likes to go – and talked to shamans and throat singers and wolf hunters. That’s where I was when the war started.
I made the decision to leave immediately for two reasons: First, my wife, Masha, is a famous activist. She is an actress in Theatr.doc, which is a political theater that is quite well known in Russia for its opposition agenda. And she was on the streets protesting the war. The second reason was that we have two children, one infant, Jacob, and a daughter, Michelle, who is 12. I was worried that Putin would cut off opportunities for regular citizens to leave the country and that he might create a situation that would allow him to recruit people into the army.
Luckily, I had worked on a project with French partners about the Russian oil and gas industry, and my colleagues there initiated a program to help Russian journalists and independent filmmakers. Thanks to them, I managed to get a Schengen visa for Jacob within one day. That was pretty amazing. We flew from Russia to Istanbul on March 7. On March 8, Aeroflot stopped their flights.
How many flights were still available when you left?
We went to Istanbul because Europe was not available. It was already enormously expensive, around 1,000 euro, or 120,000 rubles per ticket. But otherwise, we would have been stuck or forced to travel by car. From what I hear from friends, I know that people who travel by car are often stopped by the FSB [Russia's main security service] and interrogated. My friend had a seven-hour interrogation at the Russian border when he was trying to get to Georgia – they wanted to find out why he was leaving and when he planned to go back. He was traveling with his wife and infant child.
We were also prepared to be questioned: The night before we left, I wiped my Telegram account and computer.
And what did you notice the last few days you were in Russia? Did you see things change?
In Tuva, I don't think people understood that serious changes were coming – it was life as usual. There was not much talking about war. But in Moscow, Masha was going out to protest almost every day, and I was worried because it was getting worse and worse. By the beginning of March, there were more riot police than protesters.
Around that time, they passed a law that said that you could go to jail for up to 15 years for saying something "fake" about the war, which they call a military campaign. That is crazy. For our family, it meant that if Masha had gone out in the street holding a sign that read "Russia stop this war," then she had already broken the law and could face criminal charges.
Have many of your friends left? What is the atmosphere like?
At first, filmmakers were writing letters against the war, saying that it should be stopped as soon as possible. Then the government passed the law banning protests, and people started to leave for Georgia, Armenia and Turkey. All the last airplanes out of Russia were full, and I think the number of people leaving are in the tens of thousands. It's a pity, because many of these people are educated, skilled professionals, like IT workers, filmmakers, artists, humanitarians – people who could do a lot of good for Russia. There are many people who are against Putin's regime, but we cannot show it or protest because that could mean prison time or something worse. It's a pretty repressive atmosphere.
Friends who have stayed for whatever reason say that the situation is scary and getting worse. For example, people now find the letter "Z" written on the door of their flat, or the letter "V," which is associated with the military. These are signs to liberals that mean "you're next."
What do you think all this will mean for Russia?
I think Putin no longer wants Russia to have an intelligentsia or creative class. I think now he only wants nationalists who support him, and that is maybe 70% of the population. But measuring Putin's support is tricky, because when pollsters call and ask if you support him, most people say yes because they are afraid.
There is a deep and growing segregation between Putin supporters and those who are against the regime and the war.
What are your plans for the future?
Not clear. Now we have a few weeks to stay and breathe a little. But for me and Masha, it is dangerous to go back because Masha is active in protests and I've filmed protest documentaries. They might still remember. I don't see our place in Russia while Putin is in power.
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