The Day of the Invasion in Moscow ~ through my own eyes

24 February, morning. I am slowly emerging to consciousness from my sleep in a hotel room one corner away from the Ukrainian Embassy in Moscow. It is Nana’s, my girlfriend’s birthday. That evening her favourite singer, Zemfira was giving her first concert after five years. Since we got together, I have been constantly listening to how she regrets never seeing her live: when I gave her the tickets for Christmas, Nana teared up. Despite the tense situation, not going was never an option. So here we were.

When I opened my eyes, she was already on the phone. I leaned over to wish happy birthday, but she was quicker: ‘Russia has invaded Ukraine’.

Less than 36 hours prior, I was sipping on wine in a pub near Pushkinskaya. My fellow host, an aspiring Russian foreign policy expert was contemplating what could come of the military build-up around Ukraine. Our wildest guess was an Eastern incursion to push the frontline up to the administrative borders of Donetsk and Luhansk. A full-scale invasion did not cross our minds. We bid good-bye at the metro station, cluelessly.

Nana’s words struck like lightning. I opened my messages and the chaos unfolded. For 15 minutes, we did not talk, just tried to come to terms with the situation – in the middle of Moscow, on Nana’s birthday, as the most brutal aggression on European soil since World War II springed into motion.

Scrolling through Instagram stories, I stumbled upon a good friend’s call for help. He leads the humanitarian response of a major international aid organisation. They needed contacts in Ukraine to gauge the situation and start operations. I immediately got on the phone. From then on, for the rest of our time in Moscow, I kept making connections: ministries, coordination in Lviv, the UN in Ukraine. It is incredible how everything comes down to personal relations in times of crisis. Even small contributions like this can make a huge difference, especially when you are also fighting against the clock.

Still, it was Nana’s birthday, and that was my priority. After the initial shock, we agreed to focus on each other, or at least try. We took our coats and headed to Café Dr. Zhivago for our reservation. Walking on the streets, we were looking for signs of the war, but nothing seemed different. It gave us an uneasy feeling.

How can something so terrible be so inconsequential? It took us until the end of the day to understand.

We arrived at the restaurant, just across the street from the Kremlin. It was the most surreal situation of our lives. People were enjoying brunch as if nothing has happened, staff came out to sing Nana her favourite Russian birthday song, while a couple hundred metres from us Putin plotted his next move against the people of Ukraine. We were on an emotional roller coaster racing helplessly between the happiness of spending this special day together, the sadness we felt for those crumbling under the boot, and the guilt of safety in the country of the aggressor. As news kept pouring in via Telegram, we wondered if the man has indeed lost his mind. It crossed my mind that if nuclear war broke out, one of the first missiles would explode right over our heads. On our way out, I saw the morning issue of Rossiyskaya Gazeta, the government’s newspaper. The headline read “Donbass – Defender’s Day”. It was yesterday’s news.

Helpless with our thoughts, we wandered to the State Tretyakov Gallery, the main shrine of the Russian fine arts. I needed to reflect, and soon enough found inspiration for it. In one of the first rooms of the exhibition stood a painting that cut right through my heart. Saturn cutting off Cupid’s wings with a scythe. Hungarians in 1956 = Ukrainians in 2022. No further comments needed.

Later, we walked through the hall with paintings of Russia’s military campaigns across the world. It is a reminder that you stand on the soil of an empire that nurtured itself on the idea of permanent conquest.

But look closer, and you discover a different story told by the painters: that of Russian leaders’ blatant disregard for human lives.

Their enemies’, civilians’ and their own too. See this one: the celebration of a victory, over the dead bodies of comrades. In the bottom left corner, the soldier’s body froze as he held his rifle. What was on his mind before his death? I wonder what the 20-year-old recruit in a T-72 feels before a Ukrainian defending his homeland hits him with a Javelin. Putin is sacrificing lives in an immoral war – and history tells us he will not stop. But Russian souls will not remain untouched. This painting is the evidence.

On our way back to the hotel we passed by the headquarters of TASS, the Russian news agency. The news ticker on the side of the building warned that those taking part in “unannounced demonstrations” will be prosecuted. In laymen’s terms: if you protest, you will be taken away by the police. In a couple of hours, I fully understood what this meant.

The epicentre of the anti-war protest was right above our metro station, on Pushkin Square. To get to Zemfira’s concert, we had to pass through. A few corners out, the road was blocked by the troop carriers of the police. We were after sunset. In the shade of the blinking blue lights it seemed that people paced faster. The wind blew nervously. Closing in, more and more policemen appeared. Riot police – and OMON. OMON is a special police force under the National Guard of Russia known for its brutality. I have never seen so many in my life.

Arriving to the intersection, we saw protesters gathering on the other side of the street. They were peaceful, nothing remotely threatening about them. For a moment I thought they could send a powerful message to the government. We entered the pedestrian subway to cross below the road. As we emerged on the other side, my illusions dissipated. The first sight: a red shirt. A protester in a red shirt, stripped of his coat in -5°C, held down by close to a dozen riot policemen. In a few seconds, they made him vanish in the back of an avtozak, the transport vehicles they use to capture protesters. What happened to him next, only he and his captors know. In the coming days, holding up a sign or shouting an anti-war rhyme could earn one this fate. My stomach cramped.

It is one of those moments, when you understand that democracies may be inefficient, but at least they shield you from such violence. I felt love, anger and sorrow. Yes, protests can get nasty in the West too. But at least we get a proper chance to speak our minds before we meet the baton. Then, if we do meet it, we can take legal remedies. But not Russians. The henchmen wear ski masks instead of ID numbers and the courts protect them on Putin’s order. Hopelessness. We got down to the metro and headed towards the concert venue.

Zemfira is a special character. My friends who know her consider her a genius. She thinks of herself as a singer, but many claim she is a poet. I agree: her lyrics are some of the most powerful and beautiful that I have read. They carry heavy secondary and tertiary meaning. Despite this, Zemfira has never been a particularly political person. But in today’s Russia, her existence itself is a political statement. She has been living in a happy relationship with Renata Litvinova, the iconic Russian actress and film director. She is not dear to the Kremlin.

When a few hours before the concert Zemfira posted “Нет Войне” (no war) on her social media channels, I felt something was on. But I did not anticipate what happened. She was over an hour late to the stage. The whole programme has been changed. No big talk about the invasion, but almost all the songs reflected on it. Although Nana translated a few things for me, I really did not need it. You could touch the emotion in the room. The absolute peak was the first song of the encore: “Не Стреляйте” (don’t shoot). She originally wrote it during the war in Chechnya.

Don't shoot!

There is love in this room,

Naked love.

You're careless.

Don't ask!

I'm afraid of losing grip -

It's too hard

To hold onto your hands.

Don't be silent!

In this crumbly ground I will die

Don't be silent!

I cried. She did too. And we all did. Pay attention at 0:28.

It was sad. Profound. Uplifting. I will never forget this concert. And Nana will not either. We were both deeply touched. Not the happiest birthday, but definitely the most memorable. I put our address in Google Maps.

As we were approaching Tverskaya on the metro, I was thinking about getting off a stop earlier. I did not want us to get caught in the midst of a police charge. Then, we made up our minds and decided to stick with Tverskaya. It was the biggest surprise. At midnight, up on the surface remained no one, just the unnerving emptiness. Even the police were gone. Thousands of protesters cleaned up as if they never existed. Then it hit me.

During the day, I felt I was still in yesterday’s Moscow. People seemed to carry on with their lives as if nothing has happened. Acts of resistance, if any, were subtle, or disappeared without a trace in the back of an avtozak. But I missed one crucial factor: omission.

I realised that I did not see a single flag or billboard in support of the aggression. It dawned on me that in Russia, society has really been beaten into submission. Most stopped looking beyond the lies and try to get by passively. Many who are still paying attention, keep silent. The few who dare to act are shut down with terrifying effectiveness.

But that does not make people want the war. They might give credit to some of their government’s narratives, but they do not want the war.

That is why we should not alienate the people. We can hate Putin, the government, the aggressive idiots who actually wish destruction upon Ukraine. But not the ordinary, deceived or frightened Russian. Yes, they are not yet on track to oust Putin – but they also have no chance of succeeding unless internal strife cracks the system first. And if that happens, we will wish not to have pushed them into the dictator’s arms.

Before sleep, Nana and I passed by the Ukrainian Embassy. The other side of the street was full of white bouquets.

People grieved for both countries. That day, one seemed to have lost its freedom, the other its future.

I left Russia five days later, on the land border towards Estonia. Before crossing, I promptly deleted all messages concerning any help I provided to Ukraine. They did not check it, but I heard they have started since. With this Friday, I could receive up to 15 years in prison for it. I am lucky that I could leave. Russians need to live with it.