‘He looked at our marriage certificate and said I could wipe myself with it’ How dozens of queer Russian refugees seeking freedom and safety in the U.S. instead found themselves behind bars
Over the last year, at least 50 LGBTQ+ Russians who fled their country and sought asylum in the United States have found themselves locked in American immigration detention centers. Some have been held in harsh conditions for months, with no idea when they might be released. Many of these refugees have family members or loved ones who have spent large amounts of money trying to free them — often to no avail. Yaroslav Rasputin, editor of the queer Russian media outlet Just Got Lucky, spoke to these detainees, their relatives, and experts on the U.S. immigration system about why so many queer Russian asylum seekers suddenly found themselves behind bars. Meduza has adapted his report into English.
This story was originally published in Russian on November 5, 2024. The translation below has been adapted to include new developments.
In November 2023, when Russia’s Supreme Court declared the “international LGBT movement” an “extremist organization,” Stefania decided it was time for her to leave the country. The 24-year-old lawyer was a regular volunteer at the organization Equal PostOst, where she helped queer people seek asylum in safe countries, so she had a good understanding of what emigration would require. She also knew what country she wanted to go to: her fiancée, a 26-year-old programmer named Katya, lived in the U.S. state of Arkansas on a green card.
Stefania made a plan: she would fly to Mexico in 2024, schedule an appointment with the U.S. Border Patrol through their official app CBP One, and show up at the border crossing at the designated time to officially apply for asylum. On April 15, she went to her appointment as planned. She had no idea she would be spending the next six months in a Texas prison.
Sasha (name changed), a 33-year-old geography teacher from Moscow, ended up in prison by complete accident: he already had a U.S. visa, and he had no intention of applying for asylum. In May 2024, he flew to the U.S. as a tourist, planning to eventually find a job and get a work visa. Before beginning his job search, however, he went to visit his sister Olesya (name changed), who lived in Mexico. On the way back to the U.S., he was asked to fill out an online declaration — a formality that entailed little more than stating the reason for his trip.
“This guy [Sasha] with perfect English made a mistake — and instead of the CBP [Customs and Border Protection] form he was supposed to use, he filled out an application in CBP One, the app for refugees,” Olesya said. “The border agents [now] had an asylum application in their system, even though the person who showed up already had a visa. They revoked his visa and said, ‘Request asylum, since you stated that you need it — otherwise we’ll deport you.’ He chose the first option.”
Over the next six months, Sasha was transferred to different prisons twice; as of January 2025, he was still behind bars, with his hearing scheduled for February 2. Nobody who spoke to Just Got Lucky could explain why his two transfers occurred.
Twenty-two-year-old Natalie and 26-year-old Tina are both PR specialists. They met in 2020 in St. Petersburg and made no efforts to hide their relationship. When Russia launched its full-scale war against Ukraine, they started discussing emigration. Initially, they planned to go to Argentina, but they decided to first save some money and learn more about life in the country. In 2023, Natalie proposed to Tina; later that year, both women were fined for spreading “LGBT propaganda.” Natalie recounted the incident to Just Got Lucky:
We were standing behind a column next to the Galleria Mall; I thought we were out of sight, and I kissed Tina. Plus, St. Petersburg is relatively tolerant, so I didn’t expect there to be any consequences. But some drunk man turned me around and started shouting at me. The police ran up, and we were taken to the station, where they went through our phones. They said they “couldn’t ignore the propaganda” [that they'd found on the phones] and issued a court summons.
Natalie and Tina didn’t show up to court, so they don’t know how much they were fined. After the incident, the couple believed they were at even greater risk of being detained again. By this time, they’d made a new pen pal: a bisexual man from Boston named Adam. He offered to become their “sponsor”: under U.S. law, if a citizen or green card holder vouches for and is willing to take responsibility for an asylum seeker, the person can be released on parole after crossing the border.
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After flying to Mexico in December 2023, Tina and Natalie got married (same-sex marriage was legalized in the country in 2015). They spent the next six months waiting for the approval of their application to cross the U.S. border. On May 28, they met with an immigration officer. Two days later, they were sent to a prison in Arizona, and in early June, they were transferred to one in Louisiana. On June 25, they were moved to another prison in the same state. In October, Natalie and Tina were separated after tuberculosis was detected in the facility and a quarantine was imposed. It wasn’t until late November that they were finally released on parole.
Ruslan (name changed) is originally from Karachay-Cherkessia, a republic in Russia’s North Caucasus. As a teenager, he ran away from his conservative family and moved to Moscow; his parents are still searching for him in hopes of arranging a marriage between him and a local girl. When the full-scale war in Ukraine began, Ruslan began making plans to emigrate, but it wasn’t until July 2023, when he was the victim of a homophobic attack outside of a club, that he finally made up his mind.
“A friend and I ran into a group of drunken thugs,” Ruslan recalls. “The security guards turned them away, saying, ‘This is a gay party’ — and that happened to be when we walked out. It started out as usual, like, ‘What are you, fags?’ Then one word led to another, and it escalated.”
After that, Ruslan bought a ticket to Mexico, saved up some money, found an immigration lawyer, and carefully documented his story for his future asylum case. His border crossing was scheduled for eight months later. On May 2, Ruslan passed through the border crossing in Calexico, California. Today, he’s free — after spending 178 days in detention.
Waves of fear
According to data from the U.S. border authorities, the number of refugees from Russia attempting to enter the United States began rising in September 2021, after the first rumors of a planned invasion of Ukraine surfaced in August.
“Russian refugees are arriving in waves. A new wave began [in late September 2022] after a statement from White House Press Secretary [Karine Jean-Pierre] about asylum for deserters appeared in Russian media. Many interpreted it as a promise of protection for those at risk of being drafted,” U.S. immigration expert Marina Sokolovskaya told Just Got Lucky.
The main wave occurred between November 2022 and March 2023, with nearly 40,000 Russians applying for asylum in the U.S. — over two percent of all asylum applications processed by U.S. border authorities during that period. By August 2023, the number of refugees from Russia began returning to pre-war levels, now comprising less than one percent. From April to November 2024, 7,700 Russian nationals applied for U.S. asylum, including 2,700 who submitted their applications at the U.S.-Mexico border.
In October 2022, a group of queer Russians who had relocated to the U.S. launched a Telegram chat called Ours in the USA. The chat provided LGBTQ+ Russians with guidance on navigating the process of entering the U.S. and applying for asylum. Members also shared their experiences of emigrating and adapting to life in a new country. The group quickly grew to 1,000 participants, and as more people began using the chat’s resources to move to the U.S., the activists established a formal organization.
The most popular and accessible route for Russians entering the U.S. has been through Mexico, where visas can be obtained upon arrival at Mexico City’s airport. Until January 20, 2024, when Donald Trump ended the use of the CBP One app, asylum seekers traveling to the U.S. were required to download the app and schedule an appointment with an immigration officer. Many waited several months for an interview; by fall 2023, wait times often exceeded six months.
To be granted asylum at the border, applicants must go through court proceedings to determine whether they meet the criteria for protection in the U.S. Initially, border agents place asylum seekers in short-term holding facilities for several days. Afterward, individuals may either be released under the sponsorship of someone legally residing in the U.S. — allowing them to choose the state where their hearing will take place — or classified as undocumented and sent to immigration detention. In detention, officials quickly determine where detainees will be held long-term.
Before a court hearing can be scheduled, detainees must undergo a “credible fear interview,” during which they explain the dangers they face in their home country. The interview outcomes are classified as “positive” (indicating credible fear), “negative” (no credible fear), or “neutral” (uncertain). Those with positive or neutral outcomes can request release if a U.S. citizen or green card holder sponsors them. Negative outcomes can be appealed in a separate court.
The final step in the asylum process is filing a lawsuit to overturn a deportation order and obtain refugee status. Applicants released from detention can choose their court location, whereas those in detention must attend hearings locally.
In August 2023, U.S. authorities began classifying all asylum seekers at the U.S.-Mexico border as undocumented immigrants. Under this policy, undocumented individuals are required to remain in detention until they’re either deported or a court grants them parole.
In early 2023, most queer refugees from Russia were released on sponsorship after crossing the border, according to Kirill Surnachev of Ours in the USA told Just Got Lucky. Soon after, however, U.S. border policies became significantly more restrictive.
Unwritten rules
“The border officer took one look at our marriage certificate and said I could wipe myself with it,” Natalie told Just Got Lucky.
According to her, she and her wife Tina were “processed as if they were two strangers.” By the end of their separate “credible fear interviews” — conducted on the same day but with different officers — they were both told they didn’t qualify for asylum in the U.S. because they could “live freely in any Russian city.” They eventually appealed this decision in court, managed to merge their cases, and had their asylum claims reconsidered. According to Natalie, the judge said she felt ashamed at the immigration officials’ behavior.
At least 50 people from the Ours in the USA group requested asylum between April and November 2024. As of early November, Ruslan was the only one who had been released. For six months, he watched as refugees from other countries — mostly Latin America and China — continued to arrive in detention and were quickly released. Ruslan was freed after six months, but the friend who experienced the homophobic attack with him in Moscow and applied for asylum alongside him remained in detention.
In Louisiana’s Richwood Correctional Center, Natalie and Tina were held in a cell with 100 beds. Some of their cellmates were from Russia and other former Soviet countries, while others were from Latin American countries. “Every day, officers would bring them [parole documents] after their interviews and explain everything in Spanish,” Natalie said. “But the people in the Russian-speaking half [of the group] never changed: not a single release.”
The last release of Russian nationals that Ruslan witnessed before he was freed himself was scheduled for June 13. A few asylum seekers received parole documents and were set to leave detention, but immigration officers stopped them “at the door.” According to Ruslan, even the officers themselves didn’t seem to know why they were ordered to keep the Russians in detention — the most common excuse they gave was the supposed “danger” they posed to the U.S.
“I know a guy who’s locked up in Lima, Ohio. He looks like a girl, with long hair, just a sweet and harmless soul. How could he possibly be a terrorist?” Ruslan told Just Got Lucky. “Fine, I’m from the Caucasus, maybe I look like a terrorist. But with him, it takes five minutes of talking to realize his mind is filled with nothing but ponies. He’s never had a bad thought in his life. Meanwhile, they’ll let a shady guy from Honduras walk free without any checks. It’s ridiculous.”
Olesya, the sister of Russian asylum seeker Sasha, gave a similar account:
A Jordanian man who barely speaks English and made it here via Guatemala was released right after getting a positive “credible fear” determination. But my brother is still in detention on the grounds that he “poses a danger.” We’ve started calling him “the dangerous Russian.” When he disappeared from contact the first time, I asked some former border officers I know about it, and they told me quite the tale: apparently, he supposedly looks like a Dagestani guy named Kazimir who’s wanted by Interpol. They showed me a photo — he looks nothing like him.
Stefania spent 18 days at the border in a short-term detention cell meant to hold people for a maximum of three days. From there, she was transferred to St. Louis, Missouri — then, a week later, she was sent to Bluebonnet Detention Center in Texas. Initially, she was put in a 70-bed cell, where most of the other inmates were Latin American. Over time, the dorm emptied, and the remaining Russian women were moved to a smaller, 20-bed cell.
Unlike Ruslan and Sasha, Stefania had an official sponsor: her fiancée Katya. “They told me the decision about her release had to come from Washington,” Katya said. “As I understand it, they couldn’t find any issues with her paperwork. Essentially, they didn’t say yes or no, but in the end, they didn’t release her. A new officer was recently assigned to the case, so we’ve reapplied.”
U.S. immigration expert Marina Sokolovskaya confirmed to Just Got Lucky that Russian nationals were indeed flagged in internal DHS memos instructing officials to keep them in detention until their final court hearings. This “ban” also applied to citizens of Moldova, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Georgia. This list allowed OPLA (Office of the Principal Legal Advisor) — essentially the immigration system’s prosecutorial arm — to avoid accusations of discrimination based on nationality. Sokolovskaya explained:
In the lead-up to the [U.S. presidential] election, OPLA finally started paying attention to what intelligence agencies have been warning about since 2016: Russians are exceptionally skilled at fabricating asylum cases. This coincided with concerns over Kremlin interference in the upcoming election. Of course, blaming pre-election chaos is a pretty weak excuse, since all of that interference can happen online. And even the FSB operatives currently on trial — Igor Kochan, Elena Branson — entered the U.S. perfectly legally. So it’s a bizarre form of “prevention,” but tensions really have escalated as the election approaches.
A game of chance
American immigration detention facilities are privately run, and conditions vary widely from one location to another, according to everyone who spoke with Just Got Lucky. By November, Sasha found himself in his third facility. At his previous detention center in Mississippi, the food was worse, but he had a two-person cell. Now, in Louisiana, he was housed in a cell with 40 others.
“Most of them don’t speak English,” said his sister, Olesya. “We joked that he might as well set up a desk in the cell because both the detainees and officers are constantly asking him to translate between Russian and English.”
According to Olesya, the facility where her brother was held was “average” by Louisiana standards. The state has much worse options, two of which Natalie and Tina spent time in. “Richwood [Correctional Center] was both physically and mentally torturous — no windows, no decent food, not even clean water,” said Natalie. “The worst part was the way the officers treated us. Since most of the refugees didn’t know English, they’d openly discuss how ‘all these Russian girls who like to travel and fuck’ should only be given dog food.”
“There are two other Russian women with Stefania in her cell. They’re married,” her fiancée, Katya, told Just Got Lucky. “At first, they were put in different units and only saw each other once a day during yard time — it was heart-wrenching. When others were released, they finally put the Russian girls together, and the couple was reunited, but even so, they’re not allowed to kiss or hug — they’d be punished. You’re not allowed to have any physical contact.”
Katya did what she could to keep Stefania’s spirits up, sending her books, for example, while Stefania would send her letters and drawings. “We talk every evening, right before lights out,” said Katya. “It’s really important to say good night and do something together before bed — like solve a crossword or play Battleship.”
These conversations, all of which were surveilled, cost Katya around $400 per month. Stefania suggested cutting back to save money, but Katya refused: “Therapy for both of us would cost more later.”
One of the better U.S. immigration detention centers is Imperial Regional Detention Facility in the California border town of Calexico. This is where Kirill Surnachev, of Ours in USA, had his “credible fear interview” after crossing the border in 2023. He spent less than a month in detention. The cells are divided into sections with four bunk beds each, providing a sense of privacy. There’s also a library, an open yard accessible all day, a sports area, and fruit with meals.
Ruslan was also held there. On September 16, he was awaiting a court decision on his release. But an officer came into his cell and told him he was being transferred to another facility. When Ruslan asked to call his lawyer, the officer called for backup.
“Eight guys stormed in who looked like the riot police back home. They restrained me, handcuffed me, and took me to Nevada,” Ruslan recalled. His lawyer later relayed an informal conversation she’d had with the prosecutor, who admitted he believed in Ruslan’s case but said his superiors were forcing him to file an appeal.
According to immigration expert Marina Sokolovskaya, attorneys from OPLA have started challenging every asylum decision made in favor of Russians. Since detainees must remain in detention until all appeals are resolved, this practice significantly prolongs their time in custody. Sokolovskaya likened this to what’s called a “frivolous asylum application,” where someone applies for asylum knowing they don’t qualify — except here, OPLA is challenging cases that are clearly valid. “If a lawyer files a frivolous asylum application, they can lose their license. But when prosecutors make baseless appeals, there are no consequences,” said Sokolovskaya. “I’ve already heard of lawyers considering suing OPLA for these ‘frivolous appeals.’”
The Nevada facility that Ruslan was sent to was not an immigration detention facility — it was a “correctional facility” for foreign nationals who have committed crimes in the U.S. The building he was held in was essentially a hangar with 45 bunk beds, a dining area, and an open shower and toilet area without doors.
“There was no fruit — they don’t serve it because it can be used to make alcohol,” Ruslan said. “There was hardly anything to eat — no protein, no meat, just bread. There was no exercise area, and we only got one hour outside in a yard that couldn’t even fit everyone.”
Abysmal medical care
Both Ours in USA representative Kirill Surnachev and Stefania’s fiancée Katya said that transferring Russian detainees from one detention center to another used to be uncommon. Over the last year, however, they’ve frequently been “shuffled around,” often sent to Republican-led states with low asylum approval rates. Transfers can happen even right before a court date — causing detainees to miss their hearings and automatically lose their cases, forcing them to file appeals.
This is exactly what happened to Natalie and Tina, who were moved from Richwood Correctional Center to another facility in Basile, Louisiana. According to them, conditions there are better — two female staff members even use their own money to buy pencils for detainees, print Russian-language crosswords, and bring in board games. However, it was in this new facility that Natalie’s health began to decline:
I have an ulcer and anemia, so I need medication, a proper diet, and regular medical supervision. I submitted multiple requests for help, but they went unanswered. When I was so weak I could barely stand, I begged an officer to let me go to the infirmary, but she told me, ‘I don’t believe you’re that sick.’ It was only when I reached for a complaint form that they finally let me see a doctor. But all they gave me was this useless omeprazole and painkillers, which are the last things you should take if you have stomach issues.
In early October, the women noticed that one of the other detainees, a woman from China, had become seriously ill. She was weak and coughing up blood. Despite repeated pleas for help from her cellmates, the prison staff, according to Natalie, insisted that the woman needed to file a request herself. It took nearly a week for her to be seen, and she was diagnosed with severe tuberculosis. Yet, just two days later, Natalie said, the facility administration accepted a new group of detainees.
“During breakfast, staff came in wearing protective gear and separated us into different sections, telling us we were under quarantine because we might have been exposed to tuberculosis,” she said.
The quarantine separated Natalie and Tina for weeks, forcing them to communicate through their friend Adam. Meanwhile, the detention center itself filed a lawsuit against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), accusing the agency of causing the tuberculosis outbreak.
Access to medical care is a major issue for detainees in U.S. immigration centers. According to Kirill Surnachev, the only thing consistently available is antiretroviral therapy for HIV-positive detainees. Everything else, he said, is hard or impossible to get.
“I had to wear two-week disposable contact lenses for three months,” said Ruslan. “With a prescription of -5.00, I’m practically blind without them, but [the authorities] refused to help. They only gave me glasses after my eye got infected.”
Part of a larger phenomenon
The Russian-speaking LGBQT+ community in the U.S. has many theories about why they’ve been treated so poorly, even by the standards of the U.S. immigration system. Some have suggested Wagner Group mercenaries are trying to enter the United States disguised as queer asylum seekers, while others believe border agents are wary of ISIS terrorists. These rumors stem from real incidents, according to Marina Sokolovskaya, but they don’t directly relate to LGBTQ+ refugees: queer people have become inadvertent victims of shifting immigration policies.
“I’ve never seen such hostility toward Russian speakers in my 10 years of work, but I can’t say it’s unexpected,” she told Just Got Lucky. “And I wouldn’t attribute it to deliberate homophobia.”
The hundreds of Russian asylum seekers currently stuck in U.S. immigration prisons have gained a major advocate in recent months: exiled Russian opposition politician Ilya Yashin, who was freed in the August 2024 prisoner swap between Moscow and Western countries. He told Meduza that he started investigating the issue after people began writing to him on social media.
“The situation as a whole is just outrageous,” Yashin said. “People who haven’t committed any crimes are being sent to prison. They’re fleeing Russia because they oppose the war, escaping repression and Putin’s prisons — only to end up in American prisons.”
In January 2025, Yashin traveled to Washington, D.C., to speak with U.S. Senate staff, State Department officials, and White House staff about the imprisonment of Russian asylum seekers awaiting trial. He said that all the people he spoke to were surprised to learn this was happening and promised to look into it.
“I understand it’s not the best moment to raise this issue, but there are over 900 people sitting in prison, and something needs to be done,” he said.
On January 22, Yashin announced that he had sent letters to the heads of six major U.S. media outlets, including The New York Times and The Washington Post, asking them to look into the detention of Russian asylum seekers and to help raise awareness about it. You can read his letter to NYT executive editor Joseph Kahn here.
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