Every weekday in Lithuania, Russian emigre Mikhail Benyash, a well-known former lawyer and activist, rises at 6:30 a.m., dons a helmet, and picks up a hammer.

"I knock holes in the ceilings of apartment blocks in Vilnius, rip out rusty pipes with a huge wrench and replace them with new plastic ones," he wrote of his new line of work as a plumber.

Benyash is one of the diaspora of Russians who opposed the invasion of Ukraine and fled their country amid the increasing repression of dissidents. Many of those who escaped were forced to transform their lives completely after leaving behind careers in Russian media, NGO work, and activism.

Benyash, who trained and worked briefly as a plumber while in law school back in Russia, was able to find work in his old trade within three days of registering at a job center in Vilnius.

"I was told it's hard work, but at least the salaries are normal for Lithuania," Benyash told RFE/RL's North.Realities, adding that he earns 3,000-3,500 euros per month.

"What I do is real labor that supports me and my family. I can ride a bike through the forest, write nasty things on the Internet, and initiate lawsuits if I feel like it, but it's not work -- it's a hobby. This is freedom," the former lawyer says.

In his former life in Russia Benyash worked in Krasnodar, where he defended clients including protesters and activists and, after February 2022, contract soldiers who refused to take part in the Russian invasion. The lawyer was repeatedly targeted by police and in 2018 was violently detained. He was later charged with "discrediting" the Russian military, and in October 2022 he was declared a "foreign agent." The following year he was debarred from the legal profession for his anti-war posts made on social media. He fled Russia soon afterward.

"Being a lawyer had become very unhappy work," he recalls of his time in Russia. "It was like torture: searches, detentions." In Lithuania, he says, "I've found peace, independence, and the opportunity to say what I think."

Amid deep cuts in foreign aid from Washington, many NGOs and Russian-language media outlets operating from abroad have been forced to lay off staff.

Benyash has his own opinions on the sparse new Western aid landscape.

"The whole grant system infuriates me. It's evil money," he says. "One civil society can't grow at the expense of another. And when this moaning about Trump's cuts began, I laughed at first, but then I felt sorry for my friends who were left without money."

The Russian reached out to his former colleagues out to suggest they follow in the footsteps of American boxing champion turned construction worker James Braddock to provide for their families.

"There's a way out -- get over yourself. Just as James Braddock went to the labor office, so you should, too," Benyash advised.

The Russian adds that, "There are no shameful professions. It's not shameful to work with your hands; it's only shameful to ask for money. Those who have a head and hands must earn their living."

A Journalist Turned Welder

Yulia Dalidovich worked as a journalist and makeup artist in Moscow before emigrating to Lithuania in 2022. She now makes her living as a welder at a Vilnius factory.

Dalidovich had first encountered metalworkers on a film set in Russia where a prop was being constructed. She was immediately taken by the young welders who were "grimy and had a kind of factory vibe. It looked so cool," she recalls.

When she arrived in Lithuania in 2022 with no plans, Dalidovich says her boyfriend of the time suggested she look into potential welding work. "I thought, 'What do I have to lose?'"

The former journalist found a training course, where the staff checked if she understood the physical nature of the work. "I only realized just how hard it is later," she says.

Finding welding work as a woman was not easy for the Russian emigre. Some workshops told her they did not have female changing rooms, and another offered her work as a cleaner for 700 euros per month.

Eventually, however, she found a factory that hosted a life-changing meeting when a new welder, a Lithuanian named Gitis, arrived at the workshop.

When he was told he would work with a female Russian welder the Lithuanian later joked to Dalidovich, "I imagined her with a sickle in one hand, a hammer in the other. But you turned out to be completely different." The pair fell in love and are now married.

"We sometimes talk about how many things had to line up in order for us to meet, but somehow it happened," Dalidovich laughs.

'I Don't Care If I Have To Chop Wood'

Sergei Bespalov used to run the headquarters for slain opposition activist Aleksei Navalny in Irkutsk, Russia. After a criminal case was launched against Bespalov in 2021, he fled to Turkey and today lives in Lithuania.

"In 2022 when the war started I was chopping wood in Finland, but we didn't earn much. Then I worked as a plumber for three months, laying pipes and installing radiators in new buildings. I didn't really like it, and I tried something else. I started a company but it didn't take off, then I went back to chopping wood again."

Bespalov is now a project manager at a company working on hydrogen-powered transport and works as a van driver on weekends.

"I go to Latvia, pick up passengers and take them to the Russian border near Pskov. The company pays very well, 100 euros per day," Bespalov says, while describing the casual homophobia of some of his clients. "Half of the passengers I take to the border say, 'Finally, back to Russia for a break from 'gay-Europa.'"

"One time I was was driving three elderly men traveling from Germany who really missed Russia, along with three Russian girls who were studying in Germany." The two groups began such a ferocious argument, Bespalov recalls, "I thought they would trash the van!"

The dire situation for some refugees in the Baltics, Bespalov says, was brought home by a recent interaction in Latvia, where he often travels.

"I was in a media hub in Riga and a Ukrainian girl came in. She told us she had been fired from a string of jobs and now had nothing to eat." The woman had been working for a Russian-language media outlet providing a Ukrainian perspective to a Russian audience. "There's no work for women in Latvia," Bespalov says. "Men can walk into any construction site, but it's much harder for women."

The 50-year-old still misses his birth country, but with multiple legal cases against him still active, return is impossible under Putin's rule.

"I don't feel any decrease in social status," Bespalov says. "I don't care if I have to chop wood, but for many people this is a huge problem."