“You are not Russian anymore”. How Alexandra Pugach, the daughter of Vladimir Putin’s trusted representative, was convicted for supporting Ukraine

I didn’t think the war would be so long. I thought it would last for several months, [Vladimir] Putin would be overthrown or taken down. Everything was so insane and so horrific, that it was impossible to believe that evil could prevail for such a long time.

I remember looking out the window of the plane in Moscow, when we were taking off, and making a wish to return to a beautiful Russia of the future. I understood that I will not go back as long as Putin is in power, but didn’t think he would last this long.

There were several reasons for my departure. I felt really lonely. On the first day of the war, 24 February [2022], I started publishing stories and posts with photographs of my family in Ukraine: grandmothers, aunts, sisters. My cousin from my father’s side was in a bomb shelter at her university. She sent me pictures of a damp basement full of rats, with children sitting there. My aunt from Kyiv also sent me photos and videos. I posted all of this to show people that this is my family and everything is true.

On the very first day, I received an enormous amount negative messages that all of this is fake, that I downloaded it from the internet, that I’m spreading disinformation. Then came the broken record about “Where have you been for eight years?” I argued, tried to prove something, but then got really tired.

On February 24, I was in Kirov, on the memorial after the funeral of my grandfather from my mother’s side. I heard the men in line for their coats discussing the “special military operation,” laughing, and saying coarse things about Ukrainians.

In March, the yard of my grandma’s house in Pokrovsk, [Donetsk region,] was hit during a Russian strike. The shrapnel was flying in her direction, but luckily she was sitting on the edge of the bed instead of lying in it, as usual. My aunt called me and said: “Sasha, don’t you worry, but grandma got cut, she is not hurt badly.” I was horrified. And a friend of mine gave me this reaction: “Why are you crying? She didn’t die or anything.” Just like it’s not war, it’s a special military operation.

I walked around the centre of Moscow, and everyone round me was joyful, having fun. My mom’s friend asked me: “Sasha, why are you so sad? The weather is so nice today.” I was outraged: how can they think about the weather when there’s a war. I was walking with this thought about the strike near my grandma’s house, I was hysterical, and I felt really lonely—as if I was the only one who knew what’s going on.

And I also realised that my story will inevitably end in prison, because I’m not used to hold back my thoughts and emotions.

Connection to Ukraine and relationship with father

My father moved to Russia from Ukraine in the early 1990s. He was born in Pokrovsk, finished school there, and his older daughter was also born there. My grandmother’s house was his home from birth. Before the war, he used to visit his mother in Ukraine often. The last time he was there was 2021, on his father’s funeral. I cannot fathom how he could be like this when his home city is being destroyed.

I visited Ukraine every summer from the year I was born, 1998. I know the Ukrainian language, communicate in it freely. I’ve been following Ukrainian politics, I’ve been watching Ukrainian TV. For me, Ukraine was a second homeland.

In 2015 and 2016, many people moved to Pokrovsk from the occupied territories of the Donetsk region, because it was a lawlessness land, without water, a complete nightmare. I talked to them and heard their stories. My opinion was formed back then: I had no doubt that it was Russia that started the war in 2014, and that the Russian army and Russian military equipment was there.

My mother was never interested in politics, and she didn’t care for conversations like this. We were arguing with my father: not only about Ukraine, bu about Putin, [Alexei] Navalny, protest rallies. He knew I am supporting all of this, but called me a “little fool” who had swallowed Western propaganda. Despite his attitude towards Ukraine, he still went there.

My oppositionist views had formed even earlier, before the Ukraine issue arose. By 2013, I was already opposed to Vladimir Putin. That was when the law banning “LGBT propaganda” was passed. I am bisexual, and there have always been LGBT people in my social circle. I saw how brutal homophobia was in Russia and realised it was a state-driven agenda—something that hadn’t existed before. However, my parents didn't discuss my bisexuality. My father called me a fool for attending rallies, but he didn't actually forbid me from doing anything.

The rift over the Ukraine issue occurred when I was 16, in 2014. I left Kirov in the summer of 2015.

We used to argue [with my father] about Ukraine, but I didn’t have a close relationship with him, so his words didn’t carry much weight with me. He considered Crimea to be historically Russian territory, parroting propaganda talking points. Yet, he never actually went there himself because he didn’t want to jeopardize his ability to travel to Ukraine.

My father is a domestic tyrant. He beat his young children throughout his life and abused his wife—even when she was pregnant—both physically and verbally. I cut off contact with him after he hit me in 2021; I had traveled to Kirov to collect my belongings, and he struck me because I asked him to turn down the music while I was trying to sleep. He had a habit of disturbing everyone’s sleep; he would always play music or audiobooks out loud, without headphones.

I am not a psychologist, but his behavior [makes it clear that] he feels no compassion, love, or empathy—absolutely no emotion—towards other people. He doesn’t care if someone wants to sleep or is in pain because of his beatings or his words. I left home right after finishing school, partly for these reasons.

He didn’t contact me regarding the strikes on Pokrovsk and the destruction of grandma’s house. I was handling her evacuation by myself, tried to convince her that she can’t stay there.

And my father himself didn’t call grandma or my aunt and didn’t ask about them. I think he didn’t care. He knew that I left the country. He wrote me nasty things at the start of the war, something like: “Stay in your foreign land and keep a low profile. You are not Russian anymore.” He called me a traitor, because I’m against Putin and his war. And father supported the war not because he had to, but because he likes it. He wanted Ukraine to be captured and for it to become a part of Russia.

The last trip to Ukraine

The last time I visited Ukraine before the war was in December 2021; I spent a month there. I left three weeks before the invasion began, returning to Russia via the Nekhoteyevka border crossing. Ukraine let me through without any questions, but at the Russian border, they scrutinised my passport for a long time. Then, a man in plain clothes approached and told me to come with him.

I was taken into a room where he spoke to me quite rudely. He didn’t introduce himself and began claiming that I worked for US intelligence. It was absurd and ridiculous—since it was completely untrue—but he was trying to get me to confess to collaborating with the Americans.

I had indeed been to the United States on the “Work and Travel” student exchange program, and my passport contained a US visa that had long since expired. There were numerous stamps showing border crossings into Ukraine, as I traveled there every year. He made me recount my entire life story—from school days to the present: where I’d studied, which countries I’d visited, and who I’d been in contact with.

He asked if representatives from the US Embassy had contacted me for a conversation, or if they had proposed that I pass information to them or work for them. Then he closed the door, and I sat alone in the room for about an hour; I was terrified and didn’t understand what was happening.

A day or two earlier, I had posted a video on TikTok from the Maidan, saying: “That moment when you have a Russian passport and are let into a country where there is freedom and democracy.” The clip garnered 300,000 views, and many people started writing “Glory to Ukraine” in the comments, to which I would reply, "To the heroes — glory!" At the time, I wondered if the video was the reason. This was before the war started, but I was trying to figure out why the border guards were acting this way, given that I had crossed at this same checkpoint six months earlier without any issues.

A couple of years later, I checked myself against leaked databases and found a tag: “ACF extremist 2021.” I realised they had information about my participation in rallies in Russia. Yes, I had been attending rallies since 2017, but I assume the tag appeared after the 2021 protests, when Navalny returned to Russia. In the end, they did return my passport and let me go.

I flew out of Russia on 22 March [2022]; I had wanted to leave sooner, but tickets were very expensive.

Volunteering and a conviction after emigration

For a long time, I struggled with suicidal thoughts, driven by a sense of complicity in evil and the realisation that—as my father’s daughter—I might have this evil within me, too.

In Georgia, I rented an apartment for $300, started working, and joined organisations that assist Ukrainian refugees by providing food, medicine, and housing. That is what saved my life.

Later, I joined UnionTac, an organisation that raises funds and purchases medical kits for the Armed Forces of Ukraine. I actively campaigned for donations to the AFU, believing it to be the only way to bring about meaningful change and topple Putin’s regime. I made no secret of my Russian citizenship and background, yet I communicated with Ukrainians in the Ukrainian language, which helped me bridge the divide.

I learned about the criminal case against me from an acquaintance in Kirov. Later, I discovered my name on Rosfinmonitoring’s list of “terrorists and extremists.”

I believe that all Russians bear responsibility for the war, and as a Russian citizen, I acknowledge my own responsibility as well. I do not consider this to be solely Putin’s war: the country’s citizens did not do enough to stop him, and I, too, failed to do enough.

I believe that supporting the Ukrainian army is essential, because it’s the primary force opposing Putin’s regime. I openly urged people to donate to the Ukrainian army, even though doing so is considered high treason in Russia. I gave no thought to the personal consequences, having decided that I would not return while Putin’s regime remained in power.

My stance should be clear, especially given that the city where I spent my childhood was wiped off the face of the earth by the Russian army. This instilled in me a level of aggression and hatred toward the Russian army that goes beyond that of the average Russian opposition supporter.

I lived in Georgia for three years. Initially, I worked at a hotel reception desk, then in independent media and opposition organisations, as well as doing some social media management.

We were able to evacuate my grandmother from Pokrovsk. She is now with me, in Europe. Having lived through occupation as a child, with a fear of war throughout her entire life, she finds the current war in Ukraine deeply distressing. She often reminisces about her home in Pokrovsk and hopes to return there someday, but the house has been destroyed; there is nowhere to go back to. She has nothing good to say about her son—my father—and rarely speaks of him.

Editor: Maria Klimova