When Leo Hare moved from Texas to Russia at the end of 2023, after being granted asylum, he was convinced he was building a better future for his family.

The father of three threw himself into his new life: sampling dumplings, milking goats on a farm and recording videos about life in Russia for his online followers.

Leo is a devout Christian who had become increasingly disenchanted with everything from the political divide in America to genetically modified foods and what he perceives as the rise of the LGBTQ movement.

At the time, he believed that Russia offered an attractive alternative: a society founded on Christian faith and family values, a vision intensely promoted by the Russian state.

However, as time has passed, it has also become increasingly concerned about aspects such as restrictions on access to information.

He is part of an unusual migratory phenomenon.

As Russia faces international isolation, a few thousand people from countries such as Canada, the United Kingdom, the United States and various parts of Europe decide to move there.

Their perception of Russia differs radically from that perhaps held by many people in the West: that of a country that invaded Ukraine and occupies much of its territory, imprisons political opponents, imposes severe restrictions on civil liberties and faces a battery of international sanctions.

A special visa

Many would-be migrants are attracted to Russia's “shared values” visa – sometimes called the “anti-woke” visa – which was introduced a month after Leo was granted asylum.

Introduced by President Vladimir Putin in 2024, this visa offers temporary residence of up to three years to citizens of 47 countries that Russia considers “unfriendly.”

There is no limit to the number of people who can apply, and applicants do not need to pass the usual Russian language, history or legislation tests.

Instead, they must declare that they share Russia's traditional spiritual and moral values ​​and reject what the Russian government describes as the “destructive neoliberal ideology” of their home countries.

After three years, those who have this visa must convert it into a permanent residence permit (PRP) or leave the country.

The PRP requires passing a language and history exam, as well as submitting more exhaustive documentation.

Unlike other immigration programs, the shared values ​​visa does not entail financial or housing assistance from the Russian government.

Applicants must pay an administrative fee of 1,600 rubles (US$22) and pass medical and criminal background checks.

Russia says about 3,400 people have applied for the program through spring 2026. However, these figures are difficult to independently verify and do not reveal how many applications were approved.

The visa reflects a broader effort by the Kremlin to present Russia as a defender of traditional values, as opposed to what it sees as the moral decadence of the West.

In a 2022 decree, Putin warned that Western ideological influence threatened Russian values ​​— including traditional marriage and family — and called for Russia to promote a more positive image of itself abroad.

Two years later, the “shared values” visa offered a practical expression of that vision.

An online ecosystem of relocation agencies and influencers promotes Russia as a place where family values ​​remain strong and everyday life is perceived as safer.

Ilja Belobragin, managing partner of Move To Russia—a company that helps foreigners move to Russia—says that something she frequently hears from her clients is that “they no longer recognize the community around them.”

Some would-be migrants complain about high immigration into their own countries or what they perceive as a deterioration in their standard of living, he notes.

The light weight of war

Russia's war in Ukraine, which has dominated international perceptions of the country since 2022, does not appear to be a deciding factor for many people deciding to move there.

Some openly support Russia, while others insist their decision is motivated by cultural values ​​rather than geopolitics.

Philip Hutchinson, a Moscow-based former British Conservative Party candidate who now helps other Westerners move to Russia, says he avoids talking about the war.

"What do I think about it? Look, I don't really get involved in that," he says. "I'm not here as a politician. I'm here to live a nice, quiet life with my family."

When asked whether helping Westerners move to Russia under the shared values ​​visa is itself a political act, Philip disagrees.

"We steer a lot of people toward the shared values ​​visa because it's the easiest way to become a full resident here right now. It's not a political issue to help people move to Russia."

After their move, Leo's family became one of the most visible examples of Western migration.

Russian state media recorded the ceremony in which they were granted asylum, and Leo publicly thanked President Putin for taking them in.

So Leo believed he was helping to pave the way for what he calls “unprecedented immigration legislation.”

However, reality turned out to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

A change full of contrasts

A few weeks after arriving, Leo says they were victims of a scam worth 5 million rubles – about US$66,000 – at the hands of a trusted contact, which left them homeless.

When I spoke with Leo earlier this year, he was living apart from his wife in the city of Ivanovo, and his older children had returned to the United States.

Asked if Russia had met his expectations, Leo describes the last two years as the best and worst of his life.

He claims to have experienced many facets of Russia: he worked in an Orthodox monastery, stayed in an apartment in a high-rise building, and later moved into a small Soviet-era apartment.

Finally, he found work as a private English teacher.

He continues to speak fondly of ordinary Russians, whom he describes as generous and welcoming people.

He praises members of his church community who helped the family get by after losing their savings, and remembers a woman who invited her youngest son to her home and taught him Russian for free.

“My heart is full of love for these people,” he says.

However, he is also increasingly concerned about the situation of the Russian economy and restrictions on access to information.

Now, Leo is reconsidering the role he played in promoting Western immigration to Russia.

“I believed the propaganda,” he tells me, admitting that before, he was “the guy who would have written the script.”

Although he is determined to remain in Russia as a matter of “destiny,” he now confesses that he misses the freedoms that have forged the American mentality.

“These human rights values ​​do not exist in Russia.”

A transfer for love

Other Westerners who have moved to Russia take issue with the way the shared values ​​visa is promoted.

Ben, who asked us to use only his first name, moved to Russia in 2023 from Derby in the United Kingdom after falling in love with a Russian woman he met through a language exchange website.

The couple lives in Kursk, near the Ukrainian border.

His family thought he was “a little crazy” for moving to a war zone.

Ben's view of Russia is more nuanced than that typically presented by his supporters.

He praises the friendliness of the Russians and says he feels safer every day. At the same time, he rejects the idea that Russia is some kind of conservative paradise.

Ben cites the prevalence of single-parent households, abortion – which he describes as “very widely accepted” – and “extremely high” divorce rates.

“Russia is not a utopia,” he says.

He moved to Russia on a private family visa and not under the shared values ​​scheme, but on his YouTube channel he challenges what he sees as exaggerated claims by some Western influencers who portray Russia as a perfect alternative to the West.

“There are some people with some kind of agenda that they want to push,” he says.