Meet the BBC's last reporter remaining in Russia: "It feels like we're in the eye of the storm"

This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine.

Steve Rosenberg is the BBC’s Russia editor, and the broadcaster’s only reporter left in the country.

Over more than 30 years of living in Moscow, he has experienced the Communist and Boris Yeltsin eras, Vladimir Putin and now “Z”, the military symbol for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Though journalists are often detained, arrested and tried, he continues to report from the country.

You’re currently based in Moscow, but not in your usual office?

Our main office flooded, there was a burst pipe in the building, so we’re in an emergency flat. We’ve had to build a temporary voice booth, using blankets and a desk.

What were you doing when Russia invaded Ukraine, four years ago?

I was woken by a call from the news desk in London. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and rushed to the office. That was a hell of a day – I was working non-stop, broadcasting live, doing reports for the main TV bulletins. There wasn’t a second to stop. At the end of the day, it hit me – this was a watershed moment, things were never going to be the same.

As the only BBC reporter in Russia, what’s a typical day like?

Going back 10 years, it would be hard to get on the news; that’s all changed. I sleep for four to five hours, get up at 5am and walk our rescue dog, Laila. After breakfast, I come into the office and review the papers for social media. Even though it’s a very controlled media environment, you find all kinds of nuggets in the Russian press. But the situation is so unpredictable, you never know what’s going to happen. It feels like we’re in the eye of the storm; it’s disconcerting.

Last May, I was completely exhausted. The doctor said, “Eat better, do more exercise!” So I started going to the gym, having a decent breakfast, cutting out the snacks… I’m feeling much better.

How is it, in the eye of the storm?

We’re in a strange bubble. When you’re in Moscow, everything looks pretty normal. Then you see adverts trying to recruit people to fight in the war, and people who have lost limbs. A lot of Russians try to pretend this nightmare isn’t happening, but that’s becoming increasingly difficult. Russia’s affected more and more in terms of casualties. The economy is getting worse and the newspapers are talking openly about this.

With only a handful of Western journalists left in Russia, do you constantly assess the risk?

After Evan Gershkovich was arrested and jailed [the Wall Street Journal reporter was released in 2024 after more than 16 months in custody], a lot of foreign reporters left, understandably. There’s no guarantee something won’t happen to us, but independent Russian journalists who criticise the authorities are putting themselves at more risk than we are.

The BBC correspondent Sarah Rainsford was expelled in 2021, and dozens of journalists working for BBC Russia pulled out of Moscow. Do you miss working in a bustling newsroom?

My wife, and playing the piano, help to put the craziness behind me, because it feels as if everything has been turned upside down several times. And Laila, we love her to bits – you come home and she’s waiting there.

Aside from Vladimir Putin, who would you like to interview there?

Valentina, who sold newspapers in the local newspaper kiosk – she’s a lovely babushka with an incredible smile. We became friends, and I used to film our little conversations – with permission – and post them on social media. Her kiosk was an island of calm in this sea of craziness. But she left Moscow and moved to southern Russia. I miss her. She was a daily reminder of why I fell in love with Russia – the Russian soul, before this huge, dark cloud came over the country.

What’s it like asking President Putin a question at his annual, five-hour press conference?

The situation, in itself, is quite intimidating. It’s a big set-piece event, live on Russian state television, with millions watching. Often, he says something before you ask a question, perhaps to make you a bit ill at ease. Last year, he made some comment about the BBC. I paid no attention – you’ve got be focused. I don’t hold back.

How does President Putin come across in person?

As someone who believes that he’s invincible. His decision to invade Ukraine was a miscalculation. He thought this “special military operation” would last a few days.

Having lived in Russia for 30 years, how did you feel when the invasion happened?

I felt the Russia I’d known for so many years had gone. The familiar buildings were there – the Bolshoi Ballet, my local supermarket. But this was a different Russia. Suddenly you started seeing the letter “Z”, the symbol of the “special military operation”. Then repressive laws were passed, silencing dissent. The relationship with the West broke down. Our lives became very unpredictable.

You went off-air for a short time?

There was a moment after the repressive laws were passed, when bosses in London asked us to pause broadcasting while lawyers looked at the legislation for our own safety. For three days we were off-air and waiting. I sat at the piano and wrote a piece of music, Isolation, that expressed how I felt – that Russia was suddenly cut off from the rest of the world. I was allowed to post that. Music was another way of reporting, in a sense, what was happening.

You’ve been on-air since, but your job comes with great challenges — not least being followed?

On trips [outside Moscow], there are chaps waiting for you, who pop up regularly. I’m used to that now. Normally, they don’t get in the way of our work. “Keep calm and carry on” is the best advice.

You’ve been called a “defecating squirrel” on Russian TV – quite a contrast with the 90s, when you were invited on-screen during the Eurovision Song Contest, when Russia was taking part. How does that affect you?

Squirrels are quite cute. It’s being called an enemy of Russia, which I’m not, that’s unpleasant. I spent five years studying Russian, I’ve lived here for more than 30 years.

I fell in love with Russian literature and Russian music – I married a Russian lady. A lot of Russians still want to talk to us, they still want a relationship with Britain. They often shake my hand, or ask for a selfie. That shows the very intense, anti-British propaganda on Russian state television doesn’t necessarily filter down.

You’re up at 5am, reporting live on Radio 4’s Today programme and later the BBC television news bulletins. How do you relax?

I watch 1970s British sitcoms – the ones I watched as a kid – on YouTube, isn’t that embarrassing? It’s quite a pressured job so it’s nice to watch an episode of Dad’s Army or Yes Minister. It feels as if the old world order is breaking down, so a bit of nostalgia helps.

Your great-grandfather left Belarus when it was part of the Russian Empire…

My grandma found a box of documents, including the passport that my great-grandfather used to leave the Russian Empire in 1894. The family story is that he wanted to go to America and bought a ticket. But when the ship landed in England, the captain said, “America! Everybody off!”

How do you feel about the future?

The last four years have been a nightmare, especially for Ukraine. The level of death and destruction is off the scale. Russia’s taken a very dark path, and the last four years have tested my optimism to the extreme. But little interactions with Russians give me hope that things are going to be better.

Do you ever fancy an easier job?

Not at the moment! I think, in a sense, my whole life has led up to this.

Panorama: Our Man in Moscow is available now on BBC iPlayer.

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