The New York Times - USA (2020-11-15)

12 SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2020

N

MINSK, Belarus — Appalled by sav-
age police violence at the start of Bela-
rus’s would-be revolution, the host of a
popular morning show on state televi-
sion quit his job in protest and declared
that his country’s veteran leader, no mat-
ter how brutal, would never “force Bela-
rusians back into the box they existed in
for these 26 years.”
Arrested soon afterward and held in a
grimy prison, the broadcaster, Denis
Dudinsky, reappeared a few days later —
this time with a video message calling on
opponents of President Aleksandr G. Lu-
kashenko to stop protesting.
Asked what made him change his
mind, Mr. Dudinsky declined to go into
details, just remarking obliquely that
“these people know how to formulate
their requests in such a way that you can-
not say no.”
After nearly three months of protests
that began with widespread anger over a
rigged election, Mr. Lukashenko seems
to be surviving the challenge to his
power. He has managed this not just
through harsh police tactics, hollow
promises of reform or the passage of
time. Rather, he has relied on a more in-
sidious and often invisible machinery of
persuasion, coercion and repression: a
domestic security agency little changed
from the Soviet era that, indeed, still uses
its old Soviet name, the K.G.B.
“Over the past 26 years, Lukashenko
has created a system of suppressing dis-
sent in Belarus that instills the feeling of
animal fear in people,” said Pavel P. La-
tushko, a former culture minister and
onetime ambassador to France, Poland
and Spain.
It controls a network of spies and mon-
itors — known as “curators” — who over-
see every establishment in the country,
from schools and businesses to the presi-
dential administration. Its agents collect
compromising materials on just about
anyone suspected of disloyalty and
eavesdrop on the conversations of senior
government officials to make sure they
toe the party line.
Workers at factories and other state-
run operations, which employ more than
40 percent of the country’s work force,
risk losing their jobs if they are sus-
pected of being disloyal, one of the rea-
sons Mr. Lukashenko maintains a quasi-
Soviet economic model.
“You understand well that if you ex-
press your point of view, you will be held
responsible,” Mr. Latushko said. “You
can be reprimanded, or face an adminis-
trative or criminal case. In the worst sce-
nario, you can be destroyed physically.”
Some of those who get arrested refuse
to submit to the constant physical men-
ace. When Mr. Lukashenko met a group
of high-profile political prisoners re-
cently during a visit to a K.G.B. prison,
he was shouted at by one of the inmates
— Sergei Tikhanovsky, the husband of
Svetlana Tikhanovskaya, the opposition
leader who ran in the presidential elec-
tion in his stead after he was jailed.
“You, release me now!” he exclaimed.
But others took a softer line. After two
months in the hands of the K.G.B., Yuri
Voskresensky assured Mr. Lukashenko
that he was seeking compromise and
ready to act as a mediator.
Quickly released from a prison he de-

scribed as “hell,” Mr. Voskresensky be-

gan hailing Mr. Lukashenko as a “strong

leader” and an “open person,” and said

the K.G.B. saw “a great potential” in him.

In a stunning about-face, Mr. Voskresen-

sky, who suffers from chronic diseases

and had to receive regular treatment

while in prison, urged opposition activ-

ists to stop protesting.

Mr. Voskresensky’s transformation

highlighted how the legal system in Bela-

rus, fed by numerous law enforcement

agencies, serves only one goal — to keep

Mr. Lukashenko in power indefinitely.

“We have two systems of law in the

country, the one for normal crimes, such

as murder or rape,” said Andrei V. Sytko,

a former high-ranking prosecutor. “The

second parallel system is driven by poli-

tics. The whole vertical of power from a

police officer to the prosecutor general

and the Supreme Court is working to de-

fend the current political regime.”

And while Mr. Lukashenko does not

manage that system from day to day,

people within it pursue their tasks with a

zealotry born of fear of the president.

“Officials are afraid of his righteous

anger and are ready to commit punitive

actions voluntarily,” said Mr. Sytko. “For

them it is better to punish and overdo.”

In order to cement their loyalty, securi-

ty officials get stable, if not lavish, sala-

ries, with subsidized apartments and

mortgages.

But there is a catch. Police officers and

investigators who quit lose their pen-

sions and are forced to pay back the bo-

nus they received after their last con-

tract renewal, and tuition fees if they

graduated recently.

A graduate of the Interior Ministry

Academy owes about $10,000 for each

year of study, a sum that is written off

with every year of service, said Andrei I.

Ostapovich, a former senior investigator

and graduate of the academy.

“It is difficult to get there, but much

more difficult to leave it,” said Mr.

Ostapovich, 27, referring to the law en-

forcement system.

Following a violent crackdown on pro-

tests after the Election Day in August,

Mr. Ostapovich wrote a resignation letter

in which he said that riot police members

“were the only people who provoked vio-

lence” and that they executed “criminal

orders.” Shortly after, he fled to Russia,

but was warned that he might be ar-

rested there too.

He decided to flee to Latvia but was de-

tained by Russian security services and

driven back to Belarus in handcuffs with

a dumbbell attached, he said. Once in Be-

larus, he escaped detention and had to

walk through forests and marshes for

days to reach Poland.

Law enforcement members also get

brainwashed, said Yevgeny I. Babak, a

former assistant prosecutor in Minsk.

Every week, he says, he had to attend

“political information” classes where he

had to sit through state-run propaganda

news shows and fill up an “ideology note-

book” with the main takeaways.

Despite the brainwashing, many law

enforcement officials still faced a diffi-

cult choice: whether to take part in the

brutal crackdown on protests in August

or step down and face the risks. In June,

Yevgeny M. Yushkevich, a former senior

investigator, launched a project to help

mitigate these risks, offering financial

help and training for law enforcement of-

ficers who wanted to quit.

While working as an investigator, Mr.

Yushkevich, 31, was asked to launch

criminal investigations against political

activists and journalists (he says he re-

fused). One of the more common tactics

was to find a link to a pornographic web-

site in a target’s phone and charge the

person with its distribution, a criminal

offense in Belarus, he said.

Judges routinely make politically-mo-

tivated rulings. Aleksei V. Pasko, a judge

in the Pinsk district in the country's

west, quit his job after he realized how

many “political” cases he would have to

hear after thousands of protesters were

detained.

“I just got tired of all this,” said Mr.

Pasko, 32. “I just decided that my moral

compass wouldn’t allow me to do this in

such circumstances.”

Lawyers, the only actors in the system

with some semblance of independence,

are regularly threatened and harassed,

and sometimes have their licenses re-

voked. Maria Kolesava-Hudzilina, an ac-

claimed lawyer who has been defending

jailed protesters, says she was often

warned during visits with her clients

that she “might not be able to leave the

building.”

“If we take the 20th century in Europe,

we are dealing with one of cruelest re-

gimes that existed,” said Sergei Chaly,

who worked with Mr. Lukashenko at the

beginning of his career and is now an an-

alyst of Belarusian affairs. “This is the

type of evil that Europe hasn’t seen for

decades.”

As of this writing, weekly protests

against Mr. Lukashenko are continuing,

with more than 1,000 people detained at a

demonstration in Minsk this past Sun-

day. For some, like Anatoly A. Kotov, who

worked in the presidential affairs office

until late August, the opposition has been

eye opening.

The party line “has come down to a

very simple idea that we don’t serve the

Belarusian state, we serve Lukashenko

personally.”

However, most members of what he

termed the “semi-military regime” that

Mr. Lukashenko built still cannot afford

to take the side of the protesters.

“If you leave this system, you have no-

where else to go,” said Mr. Kotov, 40,

speaking from Poland, where he was

forced to flee.

A detention center in Minsk, Belarus. Mass random detentions followed nearly three months of protests against a rigged August election preserving President Aleksandr G. Lukashenko’s rule.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY YAUHEN YERCHAK FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES

The Brutal Grip of an Autocrat in Belarus

By IVAN NECHEPURENKO

‘Officials are afraid of his righteous anger and are ready

to commit punitive actions voluntarily.’

ANDREI V. SYTKO, a former prosecutor, on the system of law enforcement

‘These people know how to formulate their requests in

such a way that you cannot say no.’

DENIS DUDINSKY, who changed his stance after days in a Belarusian prison

Eugeny Yushkevich, a former senior investigator, works to help law of-

ficers choosing to quit rather than participate in suppressing dissent.