I was certain then that it was time to leave Russia for good. The Moscow that I knew and loved was disappearing into an abyss and there were too many cheering its rapid descent.

I had hoped for some comfort from my “liberal” Russian friends, but many had already left the country, and the ones who stayed were silent and fearful. With Facebook, Twitter and Instagram blocked, they retreated into themselves and talked instead about the terrible suffering of their grandparents during Stalin’s terrors. The one brave friend who openly called Putin a war criminal on his Facebook page was called in for questioning and left for Israel in a hurry. Even courageous journalist colleagues from independent Russian sites like TV Rain, Echo Moscow and others went dark as their news outlets were shut down.

Fear now stalked the city like an enemy. Riot police swarmed central Moscow, randomly stopping pedestrians, checking their phones for signs of anti-war sentiment. Friends were afraid to confide their feelings, and everyone looked over their shoulders as they must have in Soviet times. It had all become very Orwellian very quickly.

For your two minutes of daily hate, all you had to do was turn on the television where incendiary hosts like Vladimir Solovyov called for the total destruction of Ukraine and its NATO partners. I felt as helpless as Winston Smith from 1984 and was on the edge of despair.