A Diaspora Divided: Ukraine War Invades Hearts and Minds of 'Russians' in US

People in the US with ties to both Russia and Ukraine grapple with the uncertainty that they fear lies ahead.

Stand for Ukraine Volunteers in SF Bay Area, and an anti-war pin.

(Photo: Svetlana Zhygulova and Vlad/Altered by The Quint).

Seven-year-old Ilyusha came back home with questions about the war.

One of his peers raised the topic with the Russian speaking second-grader, at his elementary school, which serves the multicultural and affluent San Francisco Bay Area community.

“A little child asked my son whether he is Russian, followed by – How do you like the war?!” says Ilyusha’s father, Vlad, continuing, “We had not spoken with our son about the war in Ukraine. How do we explain to a 7-year-old that the country where his mom is from, invaded the country his dad is from?”

Vlad grew up in the Ukrainian city of Odessa, and moved to the United States (US) as a teenager, as did his wife Kseniya, who is from Omsk, Russia.

They made sure that the next morning, and every day since, their little boy wears a pin in Ukrainian colours stating that he is against war, while they are busy organising funds and relief for war-ridden Ukraine.

The young couple represents the typical criss-crossing of family ties in communities from former Soviet republics.

“Our simplified identity was Russian - we speak Russian, so we are Russian,” shares Vlad. And that is what the immigrants and Americans called them – Russians, which became an interchangeable word for Slavic.

“Generally speaking Soviet Union was a multiethnic country. People from Europe – Ukraine, Russia, Belarus – we referred to them as Russian, as it was a common language, never asking each other where we were from. We laugh at the same jokes, eat the same food. We bond over common Soviet era experiences,” explains Vlad, whose family is Ashkenazi Jews.

Vlad & Kseniya with their son Ilyusha. 

(Photo Courtesy: Vlad)

The pin that Ilyusha wears to school daily. 

(Photo Courtesy: Vlad)

On Identity

Immigrants from the former Soviet Union and their descendants are spread all over the US, totaling about 4 million; their largest hubs being New York and California, with San Francisco having the highest concentration.

California’s capital has the largest Russian orthodox church in the country. Almost all immigrants from the former Soviet republics know Russian, as it was the state language.

The bunched up ‘Russian’ identity also came about to simplify interactions in the US.

“Many years back, at a gym someone asked me where I was from and I said – Ukraine. The guy understood it as Uganda! From then on, I started mentioning that I was from Russia, to avoid giving detailed geography lessons,” recalls Vlad.

That was up until Russia invaded Ukraine. As Vladimir Putin tries to alter geographical boundaries, America’s ‘Russian’ diaspora is grappling not only with concerns for their families’ safety in Ukraine and an intense heartache for the burning cities they call home, some are also drawing boundaries miles away from their homeland.

Californian Ukrainian Parhomenko Lesia watched in horror a video of a Kiev residential building up in flames, and with it the apartment that she grew up in.

Weight of the war making her unable to speak without breaking down, Lesia who has lived in the US since 2015, asserts her identity, “Russia burned the place where I grew up. Both my husband and I are from Kiev. His family is Russian-speaking, mine is Ukrainian-speaking. Both of us and our daughter can speak Russian. But now, it will be only Ukrainian for us – for our identity and for our daughter. She knows she is Ukrainian. Many people in the US ask us if we are Russian. I say – No! But for them Russian language is equal to Russia.”

San Francisco Bay Area-based Ukrainian American couple Victoria and Denys Kalinichenko lived, studied, worked, loved, and married in Kiev.

They feel the threat from miles away when their parents have to rush underground for shelter multiple times a day in the biting cold.

Watching videos of their Lukyanivka neighbourhood in their beloved city being shelled enrages them. “It’s best to split it (Russia) into pieces because it is many many countries in one. They have a big territory and the only way it stays as one country is by having dictatorship, which hurts neighbours. If it was to be a democracy, it will fall apart,” says Denys.

Victoria adds, “I have never been to Russia and don’t want to ever go there. We know Russian, but we prefer Ukrainian or English. We have not taught our daughters Russian. We don’t have Russian friends, except online,” says Victoria.

Young tech professionals like Denys reject the Soviet-era logic of a shared identity. “People who immigrated in the 1990s are interconnected communities from the Soviet era who believed they all were Russians," shares Denys.

“But for people like us, the new generation, who immigrated from Ukraine in the last 10 years, it’s radically changed. I have never told anyone that I am Russian. My American friends know that Ukraine is not Russia. I met only one person in the US in my seven years here, who didn’t know that Ukraine is a separate country,” Denys adds.

Victoria and Denys Kalinichenko in Kiev. 

(Photo Courtesy: Victoria Kalinichenko) 

Victoria and Denys Kalinichenko with kids. 

(Photo Courtesy: Victoria Kalinichenko) 

'An Awkward Guilt' 

For those who have ties in both Russia and Ukraine, splitting identity is not the obvious resolution.

Tech professional Pasha Dudka was born in Russia and moved to Ukraine when he was three. He lived in Kharkiv for many years before moving to California.

He checks on his parents multiple times daily as they face the Russian military assault in Kharkiv. If the house next to them is not getting shelled, then it is a quiet day, they tell him with bombs exploding a short distance away. His mother’s family is from Russia, where his grandfather and cousins live.

Pasha is comfortable with the dual identity. “I am not ashamed that I was born in Russia. Russia is a big part of my legacy, but I always felt Ukrainian. I visit Ukraine multiple times a year, just like my mother visits Russia every six months,” says Pasha.

He knows that Ukrainians feel betrayed by Russia, but also understands that his Russian American friends are in an awkward middle. “Easiest thing is to hate all Russians and consider them accomplices. There is a weird tension between people. My Ukrainian friends are cutting ties with Russian friends. My Russian friends are sympathetic, but they don’t know how to behave. It seems that they feel an awkward guilt for being Russian. They ask about our families, join protests, donate to charities supporting Ukraine. But I don’t know whether or not our friendships will change now,” wonders Pasha.

'Good Russians and Bad Russians' 

Russian Americans too are grappling with uncertainty that they fear lies ahead.

Marina (name changed on request) is an entrepreneur who moved to California more than a decade back. She avoids discussing politics so as to not impact friendships she holds dear.

Even though not a supporter of war for it destroys families and cities, she finds herself leaning towards understanding why Russia felt threatened for its geo-security with western countries developing deeper ties with Ukraine in the last decade. “Putin says that Russia is not going after NATO, but NATO was coming to Russia’s borderlands,” says Marina.

At the same time, she understands that the tide of public opinion against Putin and the war is so strong that Russians like her feel compelled to not stay on the sidelines. She says, “If you do not have a Ukrainian flag or colours on your social profiles, the community considers you a fascist!”

Even as America’s Russian speaking community grapples with altering alliances, intense heartache, and seething anger caused by Russia’s invasion, concern for Ukraine’s well-being has made them extremely generous.

San Francisco Bay Area resident Svetlana Zhygulova, who was born and raised in Kharkiv, set up fundraisers and donation drives right after the war started. “There is a huge response. We have sent five trucks-full of essential items. We are connected with Ukrainian teams on the ground for distribution,” she said.

Donations continue to come in, making Svetlana focus on not differentiating between people based on where they are from. “My beloved friends are facing the war in Kharkiv, but I have many Russians friends also. Whether you are Ukrainian or Russian, as far as I believe, people are divided into only two groups – those who support the war, and those who don’t.”

Svetlana Zhygulova with 'Stand for Ukraine Volunteers in SF Bay Area. 

(Photo Courtesy: Svetlana Zhygulova)

Russian-speaking communities of the US are facing an unpredictable social landscape. For years, Russian Americans and Ukrainian Americans saw themselves as one large family.

That notion and its believers have been shaken not only by the war, but also by the divisions it is causing between them. The community is anxious for their families back home, worried about what will survive of their native cities, and when they will be able to visit. Ukrainians who have family members in Russia feel let down as ties and conversations become strained.

Along with that, “Russians’ are anxious about facing a backlash in their adopted homeland. Being ‘Russian’ will have a negative connotation, Pasha says, “Right now the biggest topic is how it will impact Russian society outside Russia. Inevitably, Russian hate will kick in. After the war it might be very high. I don’t want that. It will be a pendulum, with some good Russians and some bad Russians. How can you tell the difference?”

Ukrainian American Victoria Krivtsova believes, “During such a difficult time, we should not divide, instead have compassion, stick together, share grief and help each other cope, as one family.”

(Savita Patel is a San Francisco Bay Area-based journalist and producer. She reports on Indian diaspora, India-US ties, geopolitics, technology, public health, and environment. She tweets at @SsavitaPatel.)