Ivan Philippov reflects on his identity as a Russian amid the shame and confusion caused by the war in Ukraine.
In Tbilisi, Georgia, while trying to buy shawarmas, I’m met with the unexpected rejection of my money. The street vendor insists that Ukrainians don’t need to pay, despite my attempts to clarify, “I’m Russian, not Ukrainian.” When the vendor notices the Ukrainian flag pin on my lapel, he refuses to believe me. This interaction is just one of many that has forced me to confront a question I never thought about before: “What does it mean to be Russian?”
Born and raised in Moscow, I spent most of my life in Russia, but my nationality was always just a label on my passport, something I never identified with strongly. Before February 24, 2022, I defined myself by my work, my role as a father, a writer, and a friend. But now, after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, I can’t escape the weight of being Russian. The invasion has shattered the world I once knew, and for many of us, it feels like we’re leaves scattered by a hurricane—displaced, ashamed, and struggling to define our identities in a world that views us through a different, harsher lens.
