The author of this article asked to remain anonymous because Russian law criminalizes writing for “undesirable” organizations like The Moscow Times. Names in italics have been changed for security reasons.

I remember that early, frantic morning of Feb. 24, 2022, very well. I was running down the street, already late for work, but I barely noticed. The roar of military bombers hung overhead, and it felt as though the asphalt was slipping away beneath my feet.

I lived in a region bordering Ukraine and was hurrying to the local office of the state television and radio company — the provincial bureau of Rossia, the channel that broadcasts the flagship shows of the Kremlin’s chief propagandists, Dmitry Kiselyov and Vladimir Solovyov. We produced regional news.

I had taken the job straight after graduating from my local university’s journalism department. In Russia’s regions, there is almost no independent media. Young journalists have few options when starting out. A branch of a major federal channel — even a state-owned, openly propagandistic one — is the best many people can hope for.

The war did not come as a surprise to me, but I still couldn't believe what was happening.

Rumors had been swirling in our newsroom since the middle of winter, when military equipment had already been moved to the Ukrainian border. But our general director always said: “Of course there won't be any war. It's just anti-Russian hysteria being whipped up in the Western press.”

I didn’t take the possibility of war seriously either — not until Feb. 18, 2022, when the authorities of the self-proclaimed Donetsk and Luhansk republics announced they were evacuating people to Russia, citing Ukraine’s alleged preparations for an offensive.

A day later, a train carrying some of these evacuees arrived in our region. Our crew went to the station to prepare a report. I was asked to record a few short interviews on my........

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