Hereticized Russian Pavel finds peace in the Netherlands: ‘My father thinks I’m a traitor’ | War in Ukraine

We spreken Pavel terwijl hij in zijn kamer in een asielzoekerscentrum (azc) zit. Op deze 15 vierkante meter verblijft hij al acht maanden met zijn vrouw Anastasia (31), dochter Vera (8) en twee katten, die hij bij hoge uitzondering bij zich mocht houden. Het zegt volgens hem veel over de gastvrijheid en tolerantie die hij in ons land ervaart.

Hoe anders was dat in Moskou. Vlak na de start van de oorlog ontvangt Pavel bedreigingen. Als hij zich als politiek activist tegen de oorlog blijft verzetten, wordt zijn huis in brand gestoken en zijn dochter vermoord. Na die boodschap vertrekt hij halsoverkop, mede omdat zijn appartement vanwege zijn werk twee jaar geleden ook al in brand was gestoken.

Over de oorlog is Pavel kort. “Het is een criminele oorlog, zonder doel. Ik droom van een snel einde. Het veroorzaakt alleen maar enorm leed bij de Oekraïense bevolking.”

Pavel has friends almost all over Europe, but still decides to come to the Netherlands, where he doesn’t know anyone. He likes the combination of directness in dealing with each other and tolerance. “If you disagree with each other in Russia, you soon have an enemy. Here you can discuss topics calmly.”

For a moment it seems that he can’t seem to get anywhere. The war has made it difficult for Russians to leave the country. Pavel’s route is through a friend in Istanbul, but he forgets that his passport has expired. At the Turkish airport, he says he has an angel on his shoulder for the first time. “I held Vera tight and turned white. The customs officer saw that, I think. He gave me a special visa to travel on.”

He arrives in the Netherlands on March 22. Pavel gets emotional several times when he tries to express his gratitude for the shelter. He is happy that his daughter can go to school, that volunteers teach him and his wife Dutch and that organizations such as the Council for Refugees assist them.

He also emphasizes that there is no bad blood between Ukrainians and Russians in the Netherlands. “We met parents of Ukrainian children at Vera’s school. We talk about the war. But if you get the chance to explain that you are on their side, nobody will look at your passport anymore. We are all human.”

Not everything is positive. For example, Pavel is fed up with the lack of contact. “There is a language café here where we can talk to volunteers once every two weeks. But we are cut off from the rest of society by a wall.”

He also has limited contact with the family he left behind in Russia. That is sensitive anyway, because Pavel’s family and friends have fallen apart due to the war. “My mother is against the war, but my father is brainwashed by the propaganda. He sees me as a traitor.” Anastasia’s family situation is the same, says Pavel.

Pavel says he lost half of his friends because of their “nonsense stories” about the war. “I didn’t want to listen to that anymore.” Pavel still tries to speak to his father. “But there was a four-month period where we didn’t speak.” His mother also wants to flee to the Netherlands, but that proves difficult due to the visa restrictions. “They’re old, I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.”

Although Pavel is satisfied with the reception in his azc, he hears from other Russians that the situation differs per azc. “The staff is rude, takes no action and doesn’t answer our questions,” Pavel lists some of the complaints. He emphasizes that this is not the case at his azc. “Our COA team is great. And there’s plenty to do here.”

Pavel also thinks that Russians should see their situation in the right perspective. “It’s not ideal, but you’re safe here. You mustn’t forget what you’re running from: the enormous danger at home.”

Another frequently heard complaint is the uncertainty in the asylum process. Russians (and other asylum seekers) complain about the lack of perspective. After eight months, Pavel was only told that he had to have a final interview in December, after which a decision about his asylum application would follow.

“The problem is that you lose control of your life all those months. You hand that in with your asylum application. Other people then decide when you have interviews, what you can or cannot do and about your future,” explains Pavel.

He thinks it would help if there was clearer communication when this period comes to an end. “You don’t know if you’re 5th or 125th. That uncertainty makes people feel a lot worse. It feels like I’ve aged five years because of the stress. But I understand that the immigration authorities have become extremely busy.”

Pavel hopes for permission to stay. In the meantime, he helps other Russians to leave the country. Since March, he has helped at least 45 compatriots with information, documents and plane tickets.

He is also working on his own future. Pavel and his wife have an online business with which they support players of the East Asian board game Go coaches. That game is still relatively unknown in Western Europe, Pavel knows. He wants to put it on the map in the Netherlands. “We will not leave for another country. Here we are safe, this feels like home. I will never return to Russia.”