Only the handover of power in Belarus can lead the country out of the crisis

Charter97.org continues to publish extracts from Andrei Sannikov's book Belarusian Amerikanka or Elections under Dictatorship.

The beginning of extracts is available here.

- The first stage of the convoy was in July 2011 to Colony No. 10 in Novopolotsk, desyatka as it was nick-named, went relatively calmly, although I was forced to experience first-hand what I had only before seen in the movies. Scenes from Soviet films about fascist concentration camps suddenly sprang to life and I was inside a movie: night, the railroad embankment, zeks crouched on their heels, hands behind their heads, a row of men with automatic rifles and German shepherds. Then running, one by one, into the Stolypins – the prison train cars named for tsarist-era official Pyotr Stolypin, with all the keshery – baggy nylon bags -- packed into the cells in the train cars.

The train set off. The convoy guards summoned us one by one for a search in a separate car, then sorted us out again, by some sort of logic. We traveled all night, stopping at locations of prisons, colonies and temporary lock-ups, where some prisoners were taken off, and others boarded.

Later on these convoys, of which I had plenty, I was amazed as this invisible and very intensive convoy life of the country. In prisons and colonies, people know exactly on which days the convoys are leaving. When you are jerked from a cell on to the convoy (and this is usually determined by the form for listing your things, which they bring you on the morning of the convoy), you can already figure out where they will be taking you.

The convoys, as far as I recall, run almost every day. Hundreds of people are moved around the country in Stolypins, thousands in a week, ten thousands in a month. There are special schedules for hooking up the Stolypin cars to the train, or the formation of separate trains.

They were waiting for me in the colony. The head of Labor Colony No. 10, Aleksandr Sivokho, immediately went on vacation, out of harm’s way. The administration was tense and watched me carefully, but the zeks supported me wonderfully from the very beginning. Now I remember it with a smile, but the main thing that bothered me was keeping my beard. I had had it for more than 30 years and I couldn’t imagine myself without a beard. I started to argue with the duty officer of the prison who received the prison transport, I wrote some sort of complaints. I demanded that they show me a document that forbade the wearing of a beard. Finally I went into the quarantine with the beard, but with my head shaved bare. Now I realize that I could have been sent directly to the punishment cell, where people are put for even lesser infractions. Apparently they decided not to touch me so that there wouldn’t be any noise. It was a wise decision. After spending the night with my preserved beard, in the morning, while washing, I peered at myself in the mirror and was horrified. The bald skeleton with the raggedy beard didn’t go together at all. I shaved it off so as not to frighten myself in the mirror or my wife during a visit, which I was very much waiting for.

The prisoners in the units just brought in fresh are kept a minimum of two weeks in the quarantine, where I immediately received from the other zeks newspapers, grev (that is, cigarettes, tea and food) which was sent to me secretly from various units. I already had enough of everything, but to refuse would mean to scorn the sincerity of my comrades in misfortune. Some of them demonstratively handed me tea and cigarettes through the mesh in the lokalka (a fenced off area before each unit), for which they were sent to the punishment cell. The surveillance video camera was aimed right at the quarantine. After a few such incidents I didn’t go up to the mesh anymore. I didn’t want to get others in trouble.

In the quarantine, I became acquainted with Igor Olinevich, an anarchist who had been seized in Moscow with the help of Russian intelligence. I liked Igor. To be sure, he seemed too open for the zone. Maybe it was a reaction to the monstrous pressure and beatings that he went through at the Amerikanka. It was a reaction to a certain illusory relaxation of the pressure. His candor and a certain naivety were combined with the wish to get to the bottom of all issues, not to let a single detail out of sight.

They tried to recruit Igor was at the KGB, proposed that he come over to them as a hacker. He refused, which is apparently why he got a huge sentence of eight years. Igor loved to plan and to make serious goals for himself. He wrote the most honest book about Belarusian prisons today, Going to Magadan. The fact that he wrote it in the zone is an accomplishment. After he went from the quarantine to the unit, Igor wanted to quit smoking and become a vegetarian. I hope that he stopped smoking but didn’t become a vegetarian. The rations in the zone wouldn’t suit vegetarianism, and at the 10th, the food was the worst of all the prisons and zones where I chanced to spend time.

At the quarantine, I encountered the idiotic rules with which camp life is packed. One of the most idiotic was lining up after wake-up to listen to Lukashenka’s national anthem. That stressed me, and I decided to find my way out of the situation without getting into an open conflict. I began to quietly sing Magutny Bozha, the spiritual anthem of Belarus. It is for that reason I have placed it as the epigraph to this book. If some fragments coincided with the music of the performance of the official anthem through the loudspeaker, that made me happy. From the time of the quarantine at the 10th, I sang Magutny Bozha at every morning line-up. It was funny to observe how the zeks standing ahead of me and behind me perked up their ears, moving closer, craning their necks, trying to make out what I was mumbling.

I now appreciate the attitude and the support I had in the 10th. I could have any newspapers, by some miracle people found and gave me a short-wave radio and every day, I listened to Belarusian Svaboda in a secret cubby which was organized especially for me. My cousin Lyosha organized a food parcel. Through some incredible means, he made an agreement with one of the prisoners for him to give me half of his. You have to have done time to understand what it means to give up half of your allotted food, tea and cigarettes handed out twice a year to another inmate.

Of course, I will never forget the blinchiki (pancakes) which were baked especially for me by a serious zek who went around with a red patch on him, “inclined to escape.” Through some incredible method, he built an electrical plate, fit it in over some bricks, a square of stainless steel and plugged it into an outlet – it remains a mystery. There was another big mystery – where he managed to roust up some raw eggs for the batter, sugar and flour. All of this relates to the list of strictly forbidden items in the zone, the discovery of which would threaten you with the punishment cell. How he managed to fry the blinchiki, if they watch the “red badges” especially closely? They did throw him in the punishment cell for 10 days. But the taste of those square blinchiki, in the shape of the piece of stainless steel, I will always remember.

The promka, or industrial zone where I went every day, had one substantial advantage – it has a shower which you could take every day after work.

Aleksandr Sivokho, the colony boss, came back from vacation.

The conversation with the colony director went normally, the question about asking for a pardon was given and repeated, but without particular pressure. I was afraid that the director would start demanding the signing of papers which everyone signs in the colony (except those who are “in refusal”), which I had refused to sign, but he bracketed that out of the conversation. Thus, I found myself in a unique position for the colony – I was “in refusal,” but not in the punishment cell where you are put for “refusal.” Evidently I had correctly calculated that the chief purpose was to extract from me a request for pardon, and everything else wasn’t so important.

Gradually I began to get used to the colony, to create my own routine in which it was possible to exist. I beat my mattress, the vata (cotton) in the prison slang; I rounded up a few plastic food containers, extremely necessary for the zone; and made myself a white-red-white mug, with which I went to the lokalka in the morning to drink coffee before inspection. To myself, I called this “raising the flag.” I separated those with whom I could talk from those with whom I was forced to talk. I made some sort of immediate plans – to read something, to learn something.

In September 2011, I managed to get smuggled out another one of my political statements from Colony No. 10 to the free world.

Only the handover of power in Belarus can lead the country out of the crisis. Moreover, only the handover of power can keep Belarus as an independent state, and save our language and culture. Today, we have a unique and – here is the main thing -- a real chance.

After December 19, 2010, the whole world saw that Lukashenka’s regime is dangerous for Belarusians, that the people of Belarus do not support the acting authorities and are deprived of the right to vote because their votes are ignored. It’s obvious for everyone, that the economic wreck in Belarus is a result of the policy of the current regime. Furthermore, if Lukashenka stays in power, it will result in a full economic collapse.

We can and we must change our destiny and restore Belarus’s good name in relations with our neighbors, Russia, Europe and the United States. We are expected to do this ourselves. This issue must be key for Belarusians today. The time to hold a dialogue with the authorities has passed. The last attempt at this dialogue ended with the beating of thousands and the arrest of hundreds of people on December 19. When the regime talks about a dialogue, it means holding on to power at any cost and the elimination of the opposition. We should remember history and learn its lessons.

Many people remember a dialogue with the authorities in 1999, but avoid making a principled evaluation of this dialogue. I think these were the most disgraceful pages of the history of the Belarusian opposition, because the discussion group, formed by the OSCE Office and Lukashenka’s regime, was holding negotiations while turning a blind eye to the deaths and disappearances of political leaders. Henadz Karpenka died in April 1999 under strange circumstances. Yury Zakharnaka disappeared in May 1999. Viktar Hanchar and Anatoly Krasouski were kidnapped in September. But the “negotiators” did not even recall them.

It is only this fact that deprives the regime of the right to speak about a dialogue and the opposition of the right to consider this opportunity. The result of the dialogue will be another 12 years of the ugly dictatorship. The opposition should not allow the authorities to use it like a disposable item. It is not what the people of Belarus expect. It is not what our neighbors in Russia and the West expect. They expect Belarus to be a normal, predictable international partner.

I know that my views and my statements only prolong my prison term, but this proves the real intentions of the regime. We have all the preconditions for the change of government for returning the right to vote to the people. We need decisiveness, courage and adherence to principals.

History is being made today. We are making the history. We will win together!”