"I don't want to pay taxes here."
How Russian immigrants are living in the US amid Trump's anti-immigrant policies
Since the start of the war, the flow of Russians into the United States has reached a record high in decades. According to the U.S. Customs and Border Protection, at its peak—from late 2022 to early 2023—the number of Russian citizens crossing the border reached 8 per month. According to the most conservative estimates, countingMore than 30 thousand Russians have requested political asylum in the United States.
People came to the United States hoping for protection. Many had grown accustomed to seeing America as a bastion of freedom, counterbalancing the lack of freedom in Russia. However, in 2025, with Donald Trump's return to the White House, the image of America, founded by the Pilgrim Fathers who once fled persecution from the authorities, began to change before our eyes.
Trump's campaign promise to launch mass deportations of migrants has proven to be more than just empty words. Over the past six months, dozens of Russians have been expelled from the country: they are being deported by plane via Egypt, and among those deported are those facing serious prison sentences in Russia. At least two such cases have already been reported: former military officer Artem Vovchenko and Perm anti-war activist Leonid Melekhin. They are currently in US immigration detention. remain about 800 more Russian citizens.
Meanwhile, tens of thousands of Russians continue to remain in the United States, hoping the situation will improve. But with every news story about ICE operations, their lives become increasingly anxious. People are afraid to travel to other states, avoid going outside unnecessarily, and admit to feeling the same fear they felt in Russia.
NeMoskva spoke with those who left for the US after 2022 about their lives now, facing the threat of deportation across the ocean. Here are their monologues.
Nikolai: “We try not to go out anywhere unnecessarily.”
Nikolai was born in Buryatia, but in recent years he lived in Moscow. He admits he dreamed of at least visiting the United States, but ideally living there. To that end, he planned to learn a sought-after profession and find work there. However, all his plans changed dramatically when Vladimir Putin announced mobilization in September 2022.
"I have a younger brother; he served in the army, and there was a high risk of him being drafted. Besides, we're from Buryatia, and there was terrible violence there at the time. So we urgently sent my brother to Mongolia, and I returned from Moscow to Ulan-Ude to get a passport and leave as well."
In Mongolia, they had already decided to go to Mexico to cross the border into the United States. It was a long journey: first Kazakhstan, then Istanbul, and from there to Mexico. To avoid any questions from Mexican border officials, the brothers bought tickets from Mexico to Panama: that way they could pretend they were simply traveling through South America.
But during his layover in Istanbul, Mexico City, not everything went smoothly. Nikolai was forced to buy a return ticket. Otherwise, they wouldn't let him board. He had to buy the ticket right at the airport counter, just as boarding for the flight to Mexico City had already begun. So Nikolai missed his flight and flew to another continent a day later. But all ended well, and in December 2022, he found himself in Mexico.
"A funny thing happened there—in the elevator of the hostel we'd rented for the first time, I ran into a classmate I hadn't seen in years! We were speechless when we recognized each other. He was also planning to cross the border into the US."
The brothers spent over a month in Mexico awaiting passage. They paid $1000 each to obtain humanitarian parole, but the organization handling the process suddenly closed. They were forced to find other options. Through a chat room for fellow immigrants, Nikolai found a lawyer who provided them with a humanitarian parole and set a crossing date. And so, early in the morning of January 15, Nikolai and his brother crossed the border between Mexico and the United States.
"Everything went smoothly. On the night of January 14th-15th, we went to border control and crossed the bridge into Texas. It was all very easy; we didn't even have to spend time in deportation custody. The border guard greeted us warmly. They took about five hours to take our biometrics and process our documents. We hadn't planned to stay in Texas and soon flew to Chicago, where our friends were waiting for us.
It was tough at first: renting an apartment without papers was difficult, so they had to stay with friends. Eventually, the brothers finally found a place to live, though they weren't able to find work until April. Nikolai found work at an auto repair shop, earning $15 an hour. That's how they managed to save up for a lawyer, get the necessary paperwork, find a better-paying job, and move into another apartment. Now they both work as handymen—a sort of husband-for-a-hour job.
"We'd just settled in and started living normally when Trump came to power," Nikolai says. "While still working at the auto repair shop, we'd often discuss what was happening in the country. Back then, Trump was being dragged through the courts, and no one believed he'd become president. They thought he'd go to jail. But when the assassination attempt happened, it became clear it would give him a lot of political points. The news of his election was shocking: it was impossible to believe people could elect him. But all we could do was accept it."
At first, he says, everything was calm: he had already decided that all the statements about migrants were simply populism. But in the summer of 2025, things became scary.
"They started arming ICE. It used to be a less serious organization, mostly looking for criminally connected migrants and leaving ordinary people alone. Now, things have become more sinister. Over time, I realized ICE reminds me of the SVO [special forces] in Russia. They take all sorts of scum, anyone who hasn't been able to establish themselves in life, arm them, and give them the right to do whatever they want. There are a huge number of Nazis and racists there; you can see swastika tattoos on their arms. I looked at this and thought: Trump has done to the US in a year what Putin did to Russia in 20 years. People suddenly became divided, divided into two camps, and began to hate each other," says Nikolai.
He recalls that the scariest time in Chicago was in the fall, when the city became the epicenter of a violent standoff between city officials and federal agencies over massive ICE raids and plans to deport migrants. It escalated to street clashes, threats to deploy the National Guard, and high-profile shootings by federal agents, all against the backdrop of a political "war" between City Hall and the White House. Over time, things calmed down a bit, though not enough to completely relax.
We try not to leave the house unnecessarily. We don't fly anywhere because they might "receive" us and deport us. People who worked as truck drivers are quitting their jobs because ICE is picking them up on the highways. Everyone is very tense. In the fall, a friend of ours who worked as a taxi driver was arrested right outside the airport where he was driving. And he's still in immigration detention. We all chipped in to pay for a lawyer for him, but the lawyer says there's no hope of getting him out. He's the sole breadwinner in the family. His wife and children are left without money. And they're already thinking about returning to Russia because they simply don't see any other options.
According to Nikolai, tension is palpable in the Russian-speaking migrant community. But the initial wave of fear has passed, and everyone has more or less returned to their normal lives, where they need to earn money, take their children to school, and pay bills. That's the most frustrating thing: people lead honest lives but live in fear of deportation.
"We don't steal, we don't live off the government, we pay our taxes regularly. But I don't want to pay taxes because I think the money will go to ICE. I don't want to support the Trump regime. By the way, many people here are already saying the same: not the Trump administration, not President Trump, but the Trump regime."
According to Nikolai, Mexicans aren't so afraid of being deported. After all, they're on their own continent and can always try to move again.
"For us, it's deportation to Russia, where you face prison or war. And that's more frightening than, say, serving time in a deportation prison."
In Illinois, the government is anti-Trump, which somewhat reassures Nikolai. So does the hope that Democrats will take a majority in Congress after the elections this fall and be able to launch impeachment proceedings. But he fears that Trump won't give up his power easily, and things could get even worse.
Pavel: “We rely only on ourselves.”
Pavel moved to the United States and a small provincial town in Russia, where he worked as a deputy shop foreman at a factory and attended university. He also played punk rock and participated in protest creative activities.
"Basically, that's what ultimately brought me to the US. I never thought I'd end up here, much less planned on moving here. I moved in the summer of 2023. We packed in literally a week: me, my wife, and two children. For the kids, it was like a vacation: Cuba, Mexico, palm trees, the ocean. For us, it was a journey into the unknown. The entire journey to New York took exactly a month," Pavel recalls.
They spent about 2 million rubles on emigration, and upon arriving in New York, they had $6 left over, a paltry sum for the city. At first, they lived in a family shelter, then Pavel found a job, but the pay was poor.
I found a job through Telegram with Russian-speaking people, commuting two hours each way to Long Island for $630 a week. It was tough, but I only lasted a couple of months. Then a friend helped me find another, traveling job with a salary two or three times higher. We rented an apartment in Brooklyn from someone from Chelyabinsk, where we lived for a little over six months. When that conditional rent ended, we decided to leave New York for Illinois, a more affordable and quieter state for our children. We now live in the Chicago suburbs.
Pavel recalls that when Donald Trump became president, he didn't think he would take the fight against migrants so seriously. It's difficult for him to compare things to what they were like "before" Trump, as he spent all that time adapting to life in a new country, and just when things were starting to improve, things took a turn for the worse. The only time he felt truly scared was when the clashes in Chicago occurred.
It's no secret that Chicago was one of the main targets [in the fight against migrants], but I think all the activity ultimately shifted to Minneapolis. When the first ICE raids began, the news and social media were flooded with videos of arrests. When you see familiar places in these videos, it's unsettling, as if you were there just yesterday on business. In Chicago's Russian-language chat rooms, every other day, messages would appear about a husband/brother/son or someone you knew being detained. The atmosphere was extremely uncomfortable. Personally, I've never encountered ICE in person in Chicago, and I hope I never will. I've only seen them once, and that was in Oklahoma.
Chicago is quiet now, but the risk of deportation remains. Pavel is hoping for the best, and most of all, for himself. He admits that deportation without a trial is what scares him most, because he believes a person should have the right to a hearing.
"The worst thing is for the children. They attend a local school, and they're treated well. I think at least 70 percent of the students there are from migrant families. As far as I know, schools don't have the right to demand or verify the immigration status of a child or their parents. A child has the right to an education, and the school is obligated to provide it, regardless of the family's status."
Pavel says he's never met any die-hard Trumpists. He's observed that many are waiting for Trump's term to end and for normal, peaceful life to return.
— By the way, I wish this to everyone, no matter what country they are in.
Karina: "The uncertainty is scary."
Karina was born in Siberia and moved to Minsk with her husband in 2016. After the mass protests of 2020, they returned to Russia and moved to the Krasnodar region. She recalls that when the war began, they immediately decided they had to leave, but first, they had to put everything in order.
"The Krasnodar region is very pro-Putin, there are a lot of 'Zetniks' there. My husband often argued with them, it was unsettling. I remember in the first year after the war, there were a lot of SVO members on the streets: they were constantly drunk, behaved terribly, and were always picking fights. It became especially scary after the incident in August 2022, when Wagner members killed two animators for money. Then my husband started saying, 'Imagine what will happen when the war is over and they come back.'"
Karina's child's kindergarten was also unsettled. The teachers talked about whose father was away at war and asked why his father was home. She tried to avoid taking her child to kindergarten, but that wasn't always possible.
"For May 9th, we brought a craft (my child made it himself). And the children of servicemen brought tanks with war symbols. Our son blurted out, 'What does the war with Ukraine have to do with it? We celebrate May 9th—they're different wars.' Naturally, I was called to the principal's office. But I didn't want to lie to my child."
After all the arrangements were made, Karina, her husband, son, and both parents emigrated to the United States. They first traveled to Armenia, and from there flew to Mexico City to cross the border into the United States.
The biggest discomfort was the wait. You just don't know how long you'll have to wait in Mexico for your border crossing date. You fill out forms for everyone crossing, go through verification, and then log in every day at 9 a.m. to grab slots. Location also played a role. For example, it wasn't possible to do this from Cancun. We were lucky; after a week in Mexico, we got our border crossing date for September 23rd. Some people waited six months or more.
Living in Mexico was expensive. Karina's family spent $2 on food in a month, $4 on accommodations, and $15 on tickets. Like Nikolai, they also had to buy return tickets to enter the country without any problems.
"We crossed into Tijuana because our final destination was Los Angeles. We arrived in Tijuana two days before the crossing. The city is very dangerous, and we hardly left the hotel unless absolutely necessary. At the border, we showed ICE the letter from the app and heard the cherished message: Welcome to the USA."
Karina's cousin met them there, and they stayed with him for a while. They gradually began to settle in: they rented a studio apartment for a month, lived there for a while, and then moved into a one-bedroom apartment with their first earnings. They got their driver's license right away, because it's very difficult to live in California without one.
We didn't have much money left, so we bought a car for $7 and started delivering food for UberEats. Then my husband went into handyman work, and I went into cleaning. After taking language courses in college, I enrolled in a medical assistant course. I completed it and plan to become a nurse. My husband is also finishing language courses and is also choosing a different career. Working and studying is difficult, especially having a family, but we're trying.
When Karina moved, Joe Biden was still president. During this time, they managed to obtain all the necessary documents to begin a full-fledged life in America. When the election campaign began, many people around them were saying that America wasn't what it used to be. Therefore, Karina is certain that Trump's slogan, "We'll Make America Great Again," hit the nail on the head.
"As immigrants, we weren't allowed to vote, but we watched our friends vote and, overall, we could understand those who wanted America to be great again. Granted, everyone has their own interpretation of that. But many voted for Trump, thinking it would be the same as his last term."
Like our other interviewees, Karina did not expect how harsh the anti-immigration policy would be.
"When we saw what ICE was doing, we were terrified. Before all this, we were free to travel to other cities like San Francisco or San Diego, but now we try to keep a low profile because they're taking everyone. For example, recently two girls from Russia accidentally stopped at a military base in San Diego. Their phone's GPS took them to the nearest McDonald's, which turned out to be on the military base. The girls were arrested and sent to immigration detention. The Russian-speaking community is raising money for their lawyer.
Karina and her husband were also stopped at this base's checkpoint last year, but they were simply turned away and laughed off. Today, however, they could easily end up in immigration detention.
Many people who end up in detention get out right away, but that requires a bail of $10 or more. You might just get lucky and be released. But everything you've built could collapse. While you're in detention, you'll continue to receive bills, and when you get out, you could find yourself jobless, penniless, and with a mountain of unpaid bills. It's easy to end up homeless.
Trump's policies have impacted Karina's family's lives. They're afraid to travel for fear of falling into the hands of ICE agents. The family had planned to celebrate New Year's in New York and fly to Hawaii in the summer, but seeing what's happening, they had to cancel their tickets. This is despite the fact that California is a Democratic state, and its governor could become the next Democratic presidential candidate.
— Trump hates California. There were major raids in California, they even sent in the army. There were also riots, protests, road closures... At our college, they said they wouldn't let a single ICE agent on the premises. It's the same at my child's school. But there are always risks. You don't know who they're looking for. First of all, as they say, stateless criminals. In reality, they're taking people, even those you know. But you can't know everything about others... in the US, speeding can also be considered a felony if you violate the law more than once. So it's impossible to know why someone was arrested. Or they just take everyone without a passport. Even people with a green card are at risk. This uncertainty is even more frightening.
The Americans around Karina don't support any of this; they respect the migrants: who else will clean up their trash and tidy up their garden and house? But ultimately, they don't care, as long as they're left alone.
"What scares us most is deportation to Russia, where we could face a prison sentence. It will be longer than when we left. They say they can deport us to a third country, but I haven't heard of anyone making such concessions. Emigrants from nearby countries are calm because they haven't flown across the ocean and are on their own continent. Sometimes they leave on their own and look for other ways to get to the US," Karina says.
"Under Biden, quite a few, let's say, undesirable people, criminals, and repeat offenders have actually entered the country. If only they were deported, everyone would be at peace. But when a country that gives hope to people fleeing their own country sends them back to their deaths, you really want to say that America isn't what it used to be."
