Exile as the Cost of Academic Freedom

Published as a preview to the winter 2025 issue. The full issue will be published in February 2025.

This article is part of a series, "The Experience of Displacement."

The Putin regime’s decision to invade Ukraine was a tragedy for both Ukrainian and Russian society. While the former must endure the daily horrors of war, the latter struggles with its responsibility for the actions of the authoritarian regime and suffers from intensifying repression against those who choose to protest.

With the start of the war, many academics, including me, made the difficult decision to go into exile. Our motivations varied. With the tightening of repressive measures, many understood that academic freedom would no longer have even a limited place in Russian higher education, changing the very nature of the university itself. Over the past two years, it became clear that even if one could still teach philosophy, medieval history, physics, chemistry, or certain topics in political science, it was no longer possible to address the ongoing war, the unconstitutionality of Putin’s actions, or the work of the opposition. The risks of discussing certain historical episodes, gender equality, and value systems have also increased. Against this backdrop, exile became the price for preserving the very possibility of speaking openly about public affairs. The decision to enter a self-imposed exile can also include a moral element: the desire to avoid complicity in injustice when the regime tries to involve universities in legitimizing its external and internal aggressions.

A combination of these factors led me and some of my colleagues into exile. The ease with which my university leadership at the Russian Presidential Academy of National Economy and Public Administration signed a statement in support of Putin’s decision to invade Ukraine stunned me. I could not but openly vote against the proposed university council resolution and resign from my post.

My decision to go into exile entailed not only the loss of a familiar environment, or what is commonly called “home.” It also involved choosing between “emigration” and “exile.” This is a choice that must be made daily by those who have left the country. I understand exile as burdened by two often contradictory tasks—transforming the country one still considers “home” and engaging in dialogue with the community where one has found shelter—whereas emigration involves a focus on building a permanent new home. My first public roundtable after leaving Russia was held at Princeton, where I have spent the last two years at the University Center for Human Values, and was titled “Exile and Justice.” It was an opportunity for reflection on the meaning of political exit and exile in relation to home and host societies.

For those who found it important to retain a civic voice in public discourse, silence in exile would have devalued the very meaning of their action. Moreover, host societies often expect outspokenness from the Russian political émigré community in condemning the regime’s actions, and sometimes the society itself. When, as an academic, you face the prospect of exile, you’re forced to make difficult ethical decisions every day and learn how to manage personal and political risks. While it is clearly necessary to share with the host society your assessment of the war and events in your home society, the tone and content of these assessments should not limit the possibilities of interacting with the home society, especially if the exiled scholar is mindful of the prospects for democratic change in the home country. At the same time, it is too easy to take on the role of moral judge without realizing it. Regardless of whether a person aspired to the role of an exile or was misleadingly identified as such, the issue of justice in many politically sensitive subjects risks alienating exiles from democratically oriented citizens, let alone the active resistance inside the country.

Life in exile constantly reminds me of the high price paid by those who choose this path in the fight for the democratic future of their home country. This price is reflected in the transnational repression to which some of my colleagues in exile are subjected, including being branded by Russia as a “foreign agent,” an unconstitutional status imposed on them for their decision to speak with an independent voice, and the possible charges of involvement in the work of “undesirable organizations,” as the Russian state labels some media outlets, think tanks, and even universities.

Many of us are willing to accept the physical and political costs of exile. But there is also a professional and social cost, which is less comfortable to talk about. Scholars who left Russia mostly find themselves in temporary fellowships, and some do not have any funding at all. Popular and scholarly publications in Russian, or op-eds directed at a Russian-speaking audience, generally do not increase their chances of employment in the host society. Continuing this kind of work will soon mean, for many, leaving their profession. As a result, the voice of the democratic opposition in exile might become less noticeable. This may well be the true price of defending academic freedom, which many will have to pay.

Evgeny Roshchin was head of the School of Politics and International Relations at the Russian Presidential Academy of National Economy and Public Administration, St. Petersburg, and spent two years at Princeton University’s University Center for Human Values. He is currently a Future Russia Fellow at the Center for European Policy Analysis and visiting scholar at the Henry A. Kissinger Center for Global Affairs at Johns Hopkins University’s School of Advanced International Studies.