Image made by Ameya Nagarajan for Global Voices on Canva Pro.

“Where Are You REALLY From?” is a new podcast series from Global Voices that emerged from a panel at the December 2024 Global Voices summit in Nepal, where members of the Global Voices community shared their experiences of dealing with other people's perceptions about their diverse and complex origin stories. In each episode, we invite our guests to reflect on the assumptions that lie behind the question, “But where are you really from?” and how they respond.

The podcast is hosted by Akwe Amosu, who works in the human rights sector after an earlier career in journalism and is also a coach and a poet. She is a co-chair of the Global Voices board.

The transcript of this episode has been edited for clarity.

Akwe Amosu (AA): Hello and welcome to Where Are You Really From? It's a podcast that investigates identities. And this time I'm talking to Daria Dergacheva. Welcome, Daria.

Daria Dergacheva (DD): Thanks for having me.

AA: So why do people ask you that question, Daria?

DD: Well, I guess that's because I often ask this question myself now, too. I was born in the Soviet Union, and the Russian authorities insist that in my passport it says that it's the Soviet Union. I had to change my passport recently because it said “Russia,” and it was obviously a mistake. So now I'm basically formally from the Soviet Union, which doesn't exist anymore.

Then I was living in many countries throughout my life, studying, [and] traveling. I lived in the UK for a year. I received the Chevening Scholarship there. I lived in Warsaw, also for studies. I lived in Thailand for a while. And since 2017, I don't live in Russia anymore. And since 2022, I don't travel there.

So, I live in Spain. I received my PhD here with my family and with my kids. My kids speak four languages. My youngest one only speaks to me in English, somehow. I don't know why. This is her language of communication with me, although we do speak Russian at home. But they also speak Catalan, Spanish, English, and Russian.

We lived in Germany for a while, and I still live and work in Germany. I work at the University of Bremen, and when I go to conferences, which are never connected to anything Russian, because I work in a platform governance lab, it's mostly European Union issues. What I say when people ask, “Where are you from?” I think this question is very difficult. Like, where are you from now? Where are you from? Where were you born? What country do you associate yourself with? Sometimes I feel I don't have [a place] where I'm from. I have multiple [places] where I'm from, but it gets a bit difficult to explain.

AA: So, what do you usually say when you get asked the question? Does it vary, or do you have a standard answer that you can just roll out?

DD: I totally don't have a standard answer, especially after the full invasion of Ukraine started in 2022. I was obviously very anti-war, but for a while, it was just impossible to say you were from Russia. I was really scared. I was scared, and I was ashamed, and I didn't want to do it. So, for a while, I was saying, “I'm from the University of Bremen” when asked about work. Then, after about a year, I could manage to say I'm from Russia with a lot of explanations following immediately, you know? So it's not like one sentence; you have to say, “I am for Ukraine. I am anti-war.”

It's difficult, but now it's even more difficult because I don't plan to go back, or at least if I can stay, I don't plan to go back, because I don't see things going, unfortunately, in any good direction there at all.

But my parents are there. I can't visit them at the moment. I don't know if I'll be able to see them before they basically die because they are older. I know some of my friends from, for example, Belarus had to watch their father's funeral via Zoom.

This is, I mean, we are all living in a totally different reality, and [having] very heartbreaking experiences. I know Ukrainians have suffered much more, much more, than Russians. We cannot even complain or compare. But this is my situation now, me, as a human being, you know, it doesn't matter — Russian or not.

AA: I completely understand the complexity of, you know, providing a satisfying external answer. But when you think about yourself, your own sort of integral identity, is there something sort of deeply Russian in you? Like I noticed that you speak Russian at home. Is that an identity, even if it's one that doesn't work for the outside world?

DD: I mean, of course. Of course, it is an identity. I have a Soviet identity as well. I don't know if I'm happy about it because there's so much violence, you know, school-level violence, hospital-level violence, family violence. Because the society is like that, the Russian society is still like that. So, you know, the kids grow up in this environment.

But, since the invasion started, I decided I don't want my kids to have a Russian identity. I cannot get rid of mine, and I read too much. I want to know what's going on in the country. I didn't insist on them reading in Russian. So my elder girl, she reads in Russian and writes in Russian. She doesn't like to, but she can. But the younger one, she doesn't really write in Russian. I mean, for other languages, yes. But Russian, no. She didn't want to, and I didn't want to push because I felt I didn't want them to be Russian. I didn't want them to have this identity. I wanted them to be free from that, you know, from that kind of curse, actually. And they can't see their grandma and grandpa, so there's no real communication of passing things down, you know, the values, the fairytales, anything. It didn't work for us online. It did for a while, but then it gets boring, and then you don't get to see them. So for me, it's not such a problem. It's fine for me if they feel themselves Spanish. I don't know. They can, if they want, if society accepts them. And society here seems to be pretty flexible. I like that.

AA: Do you feel imposed upon by other people when they want you to define yourself? Do you feel resentful about being asked to give them a satisfying answer, or is it just that it's too complicated to explain?

DD: Resentful? No, but I don't like this question because it usually entails explanations. Just to give you an example, [I was] with a friend from Argentina recently. We were visiting the Netherlands, and we were asked, “Where are you from?” It was a boat full of Americans, just for the context. And he said, “Well, I'm from Argentina, but we both live in Barcelona.” And I wanted to say I'm from Barcelona, but technically, it's not really true. So I was like, “I'm from Russia.” And it just sounded so… But I had to explain more, but I didn't want to. I mean, I didn't really know these people.

But, the situation is like that right now. I'm not complaining. It's not something to complain about. It's just that I feel I don't want to answer this question, I think.

AA: If you could choose what question you were asked by people who would like to know more about you, what would it be?

DD: Well, I think that maybe rather than where you're from, there can be several questions. “Where were you born?” is one, and then “Where do you work?” or live is totally another, at least for me. You know, what do you feel you are also? Like, I once told my professor I didn't feel European. It was four years ago. And he was really, it was strange for him, because for all his life he's German. But it was weird for him because his whole life he felt European.

I had been in Europe for seven years at that time already, but I didn't feel European. I don't even have citizenship. I don't even have long-term residence because it's so hard now. And I don't have any rights that people here — I have many rights, but I actually can be kicked out of the country under basically any pretense.

Right now, my younger daughter still doesn't have her residence, because — I don't know why. They refused to give her a residence card, although, like, she should be with me, she's 10, and the lawyers had to appeal, and appeals last six months at least, and we still don't know. So this is so ridiculous. And this is my life since 2017.

Again, I'm not complaining; they have been really good to me. Europe has been really good to me, and I know I'm an expert in many topics like tech policies here, media, and social media. And I'm very grateful to the universities that I work in for that. And I could have been really, really helpful for, for example, the European Commission. But I can't work there because I'm not a citizen. And for every job, for each residence, I have to have a contract. So I can't even just look for work, you know, except for in academia. In academia, it's just a bit easier. So it feels temporary. Everything feels temporary.

AA: So, everything feels temporary in a way. You're not permanently attached to any state except one that you don't feel identified with.

DD: Yes. It doesn't feel temporary. It feels precarious. It feels like any minute I would have to move for a job or for residence, or for other things. Any minute. Next month. And it is difficult. And there is no place I can go back to. I cannot go back to my parents because I might be arrested, actually, because I work also as an editor for Global Voices, working with Russia, Belarus, and Moldova, sometimes Ukraine. And obviously, the articles, many of them are anti-war and anti-Putin, anti-dictatorship, because these are my beliefs as well, and the publication's. But we know what happens to journalists in Russia…

AA: Well, Daria, I wish you safety and I wish you a long-term home. Thank you very much.

DD: Thank you so much. That's a very nice wish. Thank you.

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