On a low concrete wall, the water for the tea is heated in a samovar which spits its smoke in front of the breathtaking landscape. Alexey Tarasenko, a 29-year-old Russian food blogger with an easy laugh, a yellow hat pulled down over his ears and dressed in a blue tracksuit that reads “US Embassy Yerevan, Armenia” [Ambassade américaine à Erevan, Arménie]blows on pieces of wood in the small fireplace.
“We never wanted to leave Russia,” he tells the To have to in somewhat broken English. But, in one day, we decided it was time to change our minds. The man who participated in several demonstrations against Vladimir Putin’s regime arrived with his wife and two children in the Armenian capital in early March. They left in disaster because of the Russian invasion in Ukraine.
“Prison does not scare me. It is above all the fear that my children could end up in the orphanage because we are demonstrating, he explains. The way people addicted to propaganda think is the second thing that scares me the most. It’s not going to change even if Vladimir Putin leaves. He is pessimistic when he talks about Russia, a general feeling here.
On this Sunday, the weather is mild in Yerevan. Dozens of Russians in exile are gathered for a potluck, in the dilapidated and graffiti-smeared decor of a former restaurant with imposing architecture in Victory Park. They are all young, in their twenties and thirties. In the distance, Mount Ararat and its two large snow-capped peaks attract the eye, with, at its feet, the city and its Soviet-looking towers. For one afternoon, they breathe new life into this strangely abandoned place.
It is difficult to know how many Russians have left their country since the beginning of the war. Armenia, a former member of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), is a popular destination, as are Georgia and Turkey. The Armenian Migration Service was unable to tell the To have to the number of Russian citizens who have entered the country since February 24. But between the 1er January and the 1er April this year, nearly 142,000 Russians crossed the border from Armenia, compared to just over 43,000 last year. The country now operates under a parliamentary system and Russian is spoken as a second language by many Armenians. Russians can enter easily without a visa and on presentation of their internal passport, which consists of an identity card.
Some left because of the cost of drugs, which skyrocketed as a result of the sanctions. Others want to avoid compulsory military service. Many fear the law which provides for up to fifteen years in prison for people spreading “false information” about the war in Ukraine. A significant number of workers in the information technology (IT) sector have also dropped off their suitcases in Yerevan.
Igor — for whom we use an alias because he does not want to be identified for security reasons, like many Russians — a 20-year-old who works for an IT company based in the United States, is arrived in mid-March. Dozens of his company’s employees moved like him. Their employer had difficulty paying them because of the exclusion of Russian banks from the SWIFT payment system, and also found itself with an image problem to manage with certain customers.
While some of his colleagues remain indifferent to the invasion of Ukraine, Igor is very critical of Vladimir Putin and has participated in demonstrations in support of Alexei Navalny, an opponent of the regime. “My family calls me the ‘national traitor’. Half joking, but I know they partly mean it,” he told the To have toin a cafe in the center where several Russians from the IT sector are working from home.
His parents and grandparents drink from the official Russian media, while he gets his news from independent sites. “I’m trying to show my mum what’s really going on in Ukraine, but the sites are blocked by Russia and she won’t install a VPN,” he says. He avoids sending her content from Western media, sources that her mother would reject out of hand. But, anyway, he lost hope of changing her mind.
Still, tensions could be worse and his parents were sad when he left home to go to Armenia. “I’m still a member of the family,” he says. For me, emotionally, it would be easier if they didn’t love me anymore. »
In the immediate future, Igor is trying to obtain his international passport from the Russian embassy, which would allow him to travel to other countries. But the idea is popular and the appointment slots are reserved until August. He plans to obtain a one-year residence permit, since Russians can reside only six months on Armenian territory without additional documentation.
Support for Ukraine
Many are passing through to go elsewhere, and others could stay longer, and their massive arrival quickly made itself felt in a country that was not ready to welcome them in this way.
In an unassuming driveway behind Saryan Street, a trendy downtown thoroughfare teeming with wine bars, restaurants and patisseries, a cafe that opened in one of the warehouses has become the one of their favorite places. The number of Russian customers has increased since the end of February, tells us the owner, an Armenian, who had to hire additional employees.
A young 23-year-old barista, Sasha, quickly serves customers. On the wall, a poster promoting an event in support of Ukraine was stuck. This is where we meet Marika Semenenko, a 35-year-old entrepreneur and activist who recently reluctantly left the team at the bar she founded in Moscow.
“That was my limit. I can’t live in a country that kills people in Ukraine. I have a lot of friends there and I couldn’t justify to them anymore why I was staying in Russia,” she explains. Her father is Ukrainian, and she hopes to go there one day to help with the reconstruction.
In the meantime, together with her partner Ilya, she will soon open a bar in the center of Yerevan and use the premises to organize aid for Ukrainians, with the help of newly arrived Russians and Ukrainians who reside in Armenia. . “In Yerevan, I can criticize out loud and help, which I cannot do in Moscow,” she says pragmatically.
Russians can count on the help of Armenian banks and authorities, which help them to start businesses quickly. Their initiatives could give a boost to the country, thinks Diana Mnatsakanyan, who works in the tourist industry and helps newcomers from Russia, looking for housing and schools, to integrate. Integration is not without tensions, she reports, as Armenians tend to be withdrawn. “The country must open up, it will be good for us,” she insists.
Fight against landlords
Housing owners want their side to take advantage of the arrival of the Russians, who have more means. “The owners are blackmailing,” says Mélinée Ghaziguian, a Frenchwoman of Armenian origin who arrived in the country last year.
Many tenants do not have a contract in good and due form, which encourages abuse. “I heard a lot of testimonies from Armenians where some pay 400 euros a month, and the owners want to raise the rent to 1000, 1200 euros, under threat of eviction,” she said.
In the middle of the interview with The duty, in a cafe, she suddenly remembers that she has to recharge her phone. She herself is in conflict with her owner, who has been trying to evict her since mid-March. He had the electricity cut off a few days ago. “I live by candlelight and I heat the water for the shower on the gas stove,” drops the one who has no intention of leaving.
Exasperated, she hired a lawyer and founded a collective to pressure the government and inform tenants of their rights.