A little over a month ago, a 30-something, American son of Soviet Jewish emigres was arrested in Yekaterinburg, Russia on charges of espionage. His name is Evan Gershkovich, he’s a reporter for the Wall Street Journal, and based on the facts, it seems pretty clear he’s been wrongfully detained. I’m sure his family and friends are worried sick. I don’t know him personally, so I wouldn’t say I’m worried sick, but I am quite disturbed—maybe just plain sick. Aside from the crazy flex by Russia to arrest an American journalist for the first time since the Cold War, Gershkovich and I have a lot in common, and he seems like an interesting guy with whom I might like to get a пиво one day. We could talk about writing, Soviet Jewish guilt, immigrant parents, sham trials...the list goes on. If he’s ever released, comes home, and we actually meet, that is.
At the risk of writing too much about “this bad thing that could have happened to me but didn’t”—last week I had some thoughts on rolling layoffs in the tech industry—I have to admit I’m pretty interested in someone my age, with more or less my exact background, who’s made some different life choices and landed in a quite the predicament. Now, don’t take this to be scornful. The way I actually feel about someone arrested by an authoritarian state might be worse, depending on your view. I think I’m jealous.
So. Obviously I’d prefer not to be detained by the FSB, successor to the KGB, on false charges of espionage. Things rarely turn out favorably when they send you to Lefortovo—whether you’re an opposition leader, a former marine, or just a regular Yosef hit with legitimate charges. Basically the best outcome is to be a famous athlete jailed for carrying weed vape cartridges who gains freedom in a swap for a notorious arms dealer. And even then you have to get a ridiculous 9-year prison sentence and suffer in a mix of holding cells and penal colonies for 10 months before you come home.
Seeing the photos of Gershkovich in a courtroom though, standing tall with a subtle smile on his face, stirs envy up from inside me. Not pity, not fear. Envy.
To me, this is the look of a guy who’s fully aware of the mess he’s caught up in, supremely confident of his innocence, and living with zero remorse for the decisions that led him behind a glass encasement in court. It seems like he knows Russia is, as Keith Gessen would say, a terrible country. Like he knew the risks involved in moving there as a reporter almost six years ago. Like he loved it all anyway.
In a tribute to Gershkovich published by the WSJ a couple days after his arrest—literally titled “Evan Gershkovich Loved Russia, the Country That Turned on Him”—a portrait of a passionate, outgoing reporter is painted. One who grew up in a Russian-speaking household with many of the same superstitions as mine, and who felt a strong pull toward the place where his parents were born—regardless of its present and past dark periods.
Some of those superstitions: sitting in silence before a long trip, spitting thrice in rapid succession to prevent something bad from happening, no whistling or opening umbrellas indoors. In a 2018 essay, Gershkovich detailed how perpetuating these quirks were a way to cling to his heritage.
I had only been to Russia once, fourteen years earlier, and what I knew of the place consisted mostly of the bits and pieces gleaned from life in the home my parents were now moving out of—where we had eaten macaroni and butter instead of cheese, watched Nu, pogodi! instead of Hey Arnold!, spoken Russian instead of English. It was only a replica, but I was desperate to hold onto it. When I had moved out several years earlier, it had begun to fade. And with its original locus gone, I worried that it would now vanish for good...Superstitions, then, seemed a way to hold on.
I have…a lot to say here. First of all, aside from the fact that I actually did watch Hey Arnold! growing up, this is right on the money. Speaking Russian at home instead of English, worrying that my ties to Russia were/are fading, the simple truth that Nu, pogodi! (in which a cartoon wolf repeatedly tries to catch a hare) slaps, etc. etc. The feelings Gershkovich writes about are at the center of my own identity as a son of Soviet Jewish emigres. Look no further than my inaugural Footbridge article to dig deep on them—I recognize that Russia the country, the ailing geopolitical power, is dangerous. But that knowledge doesn’t mean I haven’t spent my whole life pining to connect with the heritage that housed it. It sounds like Gershkovich grew up with a similar ache inside. And what did he do about it? He moved to Russia in his 20s. He made Russian friends. He got drunk at Russian dive bars. He reported to the best of his ability on whatever assignment he was given. He found a way to connect, on his terms. I respect the hell out of that. I’m envious of it on multiple levels.
I don’t know what will happen to Evan Gershkovich. No one does, except perhaps the dealmakers at the highest level of government in both Russia and the U.S. I hope they strike something sooner rather than later so he can come back to this country with the same smirk and head held high. So he can tell what I’m sure will be a fascinating story. So one day, perhaps, we can meet.