"I became happy." Construction work brings good money, and civic activism provides moral strength. Former Kalinovets Kuś shared how he regained inner balance
Not long ago, Aliaksandr Klachko, with the call sign "Kuś" (Bite), fought in Ukraine, and now he goes to construction sites with a hammer drill and lays internet cables. And he found a strangely simple Zen. He also shared how he came to terms with the thought that his kidney problem is incurable. And about the Lakhvich case, he says: "There's a group that has intimidated part of the Belarusian diaspora in Ukraine."
Aliaksandr "Kuś" Klachko. Photo: "Nasha Niva"
Kuś shared how he lives and works with kidney disease, why volunteers even in Europe remain a "taboo topic," about the scandal surrounding Aliaksandr Lakhvich, and why, after five and a half years of emigration, he finally calls himself happy, and why he will definitely return to Belarus.
"I wasn't looking for a job, I was looking for income"
Aliaksandr says he found his current balance at an ordinary construction site.
Now the former volunteer lays internet cables in new buildings. He registered as a sole proprietor, and his main tools are a hammer drill, a screwdriver, and a ladder.
He found the job by chance. In late March, Klachko went to Ukraine for the funeral of a volunteer named "Dzira". In one conversation, he mentioned looking for work, and his interlocutor gave him a few contacts. Back in Lithuania, Aliaksandr called, interviewed, and started working on the construction site.
Before this, he considered other options. He got a Lithuanian driver's license and was interested in taxi driving. But to transport passengers, he would first need to drive with a Lithuanian license for two years. Other vacancies mainly offered 1400-1600 dollars, which is less than the average salary for Lithuania.
— I wasn't looking for a job, I was looking for income. I can find a job, there are many options. But construction became the optimal choice. Here you can earn about 2400 dollars net per month, — Aliaksandr explains.
An attempt to create his own source of income was the souvenir brand "Kuś", which Aliaksandr launched in 2024 together with the Vilnius store A2 Print. Cups, T-shirts, and bags featured a kitten with slogans like "Take a bite for a white-red-white Belarus", "Start with the language", and other phrases. Ten percent of the proceeds were promised to be donated to help Belarusian volunteers. However, this craft doesn't generate income:
— I went to a few fairs. It was good if it even covered the cost of the stand.
However, he doesn't want to completely abandon the idea. He plans to order about a hundred cups with the kitten to sell or give away at Belarusian events.
Now Aliaksandr Klachko works standard eight-hour shifts on a construction site. The first two months, he says, were tough, but he gradually got into it. Construction is not a new field for him: in Belarus, it was his first job — at 17, he worked as a builder for about half a year. Later, he did renovations independently, plastering, rendering, and painting. A hammer drill and a screwdriver, he jokes, he always considered basic household tools.
Aliaksandr Klachko at work. Photo from his personal archive
His current job satisfies him not only financially. Against the backdrop of repression and war, the ability to see the concrete result of his own efforts turned out to be a way to clear his head and mentally switch off:
— On construction sites, people are decent and normal, and scoundrels are found in offices too — I think there are even more of them there. Here, you understand what you're working for: there's a specific task, and your head rests. Morally, I don't get tired at work at all, physically it varies.
Most of his colleagues are Belarusians, including political refugees. On large sites, he meets Lithuanians, Ukrainians, and people from Central Asia. Klachko doesn't talk about his military past without cause, nor does he specifically inquire about his colleagues' political views:
— Work somehow unites people. You depend on whoever builds the wall, and someone else later depends on when and how you lay the cable. So everyone focuses on the common task and doesn't particularly flaunt their views.
However, Aliaksandr notices small details that make up the daily routine on the site. He named three things he doesn't like about his new job: Russian songs from the speakers, cigarette smoke, and strangers' soles on freshly laid cables.
The first time he heard Russian on a Lithuanian construction site from a speaker, he admits, he "internally tensed up, as if before a moment where one has to rush into a fight." Listening closer, he realized: the worker had turned on a Lithuanian Russian-language radio, not Russian propaganda:
— Now, when I hear it, I subconsciously scan: is it "Muscovite stuff" or just "Russian stuff"? If the latter — I don't touch it. Although it does itch a bit.
Klachko specifically observes how workers treat cables laid on the concrete floor. Some carefully step over them, others walk directly on them, as if there's nothing under their feet. For him, this primarily reveals their attitude towards someone else's work:
— I step over them. For me, it's someone's effort, time, and result. But some people perceive everything lying on the floor at a construction site simply as part of the terrain.
"Doctors forbade even walking much, but you can just lie down and die like that"
Currently in Lithuania, Aliaksandr has been recognized with 50% loss of working capacity, previously it was 45%. This status was granted for two years. He had kidney problems before. Even in Belarus, because of them, he was deemed unfit for military service. The sharp deterioration occurred during the war in Ukraine, near Bakhmut. In December 2022, Klachko spent the night in a trench in the freezing cold. There weren't enough sleeping bags for everyone, and he got severely hypothermic:
— I think that night started the process. And my kidneys finally got bad in February when we lived in a damp basement in Chasiv Yar. A frosty, sunny day, but you go down to sleep in the basement – and the mustiness immediately hits your nose. We all got sick: fever around 38, severe cough. But you take pills and keep working. We even joked that we weren't the "Volat" battalion, but the "Omicron" battalion. Now I have a second group disability due to irreversible kidney damage. Time and the correct treatment prescribed back in Ukraine allowed me to emerge from this struggle not on dialysis and not with a first group disability. In Ukraine, I took 17 pills daily, later a Lithuanian nephrologist significantly simplified the treatment regimen – to two pills.
Aliaksandr Klachko in Bakhmut. January 2023
He barely feels the disease in everyday life: his kidneys don't hurt. Deterioration can only be detected through regular check-ups. Aliaksandr has completely given up alcohol, monitors his diet — limiting salt, spicy food, and products with high potassium and phosphorus content, and also tries to avoid hypothermia. However, he decided not to follow the recommendation to avoid physical exertion:
— They even forbade me to walk much. Since 2023, I stopped running, doing pull-ups, and push-ups, although I used to love it. I tried not to put any strain on my kidneys at all. But if you just lie there and think: "Lord, what will happen to me," — you can just lie there and die.
About a year and a half ago, Klachko started going to the pool, considering swimming a gentler exercise and beneficial for his back. And recently, after starting construction work, contrary to doctors' advice, he also went to the gym:
— For now, I've decided not to listen too closely to the doctors. I've let myself go a bit in that sense. I can't just lie there: morally, I'll feel uncomfortable. I need to move, work, earn money, and have a material foundation.
In his first months on the construction site, Aliaksandr switched to a strict diet, and his sleep improved. In two months, he lost weight from 93 to 81 kilograms:
— I started to worry that the weight was dropping so quickly. But then it stabilized. Now I've even gained a few healthy kilograms, thanks to the gym.
Aliaksandr understands that his disease is irreversible, it can progress, and someday he might need dialysis and a transplant. He often recalls the words of a Kyiv nephrologist:
— The doctor said: "You could live a hundred years without a leg, but not a hundred years with your kidneys."
However, he doesn't regret his decision to go to Ukraine and wouldn't exchange his experience for health:
— I'd rather keep my damaged kidneys but also the path I've walked. I wouldn't want to trade places with someone who has a job, a home, a family, and health, but who sat on the sidelines when all this was happening. This is my path, and I don't want to change it for another. As my brother-in-arms used to say: "We'll all die, but not today."
Calendar "Language of the Free" against the backdrop of a Kalinovsky graffiti in a basement near Bakhmut. Photo by Aliaksandr Klachko
"In war we are heroes, but after returning we become a taboo topic"
After returning from the war, Aliaksandr also engaged in politics — becoming a delegate to the third composition of the Coordination Council. He admits that he had no particular illusions about it from the start: he compared his participation to buying a ticket on a ship that is heading in the wrong direction and gradually sinking. But he hoped that he could influence the CC's course, including promoting the topics of Belarusian volunteers and veterans. However, a year and a half of internal struggle only wasted time. Klachko did not join the next composition of the CC, but emphasizes that he is not abandoning politics:
— When I joined the CC, I understood that I would get a lot of dirt and negativity, that some people would even turn away from me. That's what happened in the end. I wasn't charmed from the beginning, so I wasn't disappointed later, although sometimes I thought about some people, "What are these people doing in politics?" Later I looked back and thought: where did I get the time for all this? So much effort, so much energy was taken by these internal wars. Why do I need the CC if I can do useful things without this endless struggle?
Aliaksandr believes that the situation in Belarus will not change radically in the coming years. Therefore, he now wants to save his strength until a real opportunity arises to influence events:
— Now I've simply slowed down and switched to energy-saving mode. I've long understood that this is a marathon, not a sprint. With my illness, it's especially important for me not to drop out of the race prematurely, to preserve myself until historical events begin, when my participation can truly change something.
Now he focuses his civic activism on what he considers most concrete and necessary — helping Belarusian volunteers, veterans, and their families. In 2025, he and his wife registered the charitable organization "Kuś" in Lithuania. Within its framework, the "Roskvit" (Flourishing) initiative was launched.
Aliaksandr Klachko with his wife Liubou. Photo from his personal archive
One of the first directions was psychological assistance to veterans and their relatives. The idea arose after a call from the wife of one of the volunteers:
— She called Liuba and just cried, telling her how hard it was. We feared that this could become another victim of the war, not on the front line, but in Vilnius. We talked to other people and realized that the need for psychological support is very great.
The first two thousand euros for the program were allocated by Bysol. This money covered 49 sessions for seven veterans and their family members. "Kuś" also helped individual former fighters with medicine, documents, and temporary housing.
— The maximum fundraising we managed to complete on our own was one and a half thousand euros for psychological help. One-time fundraisers we can handle are about 500 euros each. This is a small amount of money, but it can solve a specific problem for a specific person.
Now the organization is raising money for dental care. The team surveyed about 40 Belarusian veterans, and 26 of them reported dental problems:
— There are people who literally have nothing to chew with. I myself know what that's like. I welcomed the New Year 2023 in a basement near Bakhmut. The guys set a good table, and I only chose things that didn't need chewing, because my molars crumbled during the war.
The overall need was estimated at over 100,000 euros, but after consulting with Bysol, they decided to raise money in stages. The goal of the first fundraiser is 10,000 euros.
Former Kalinovets Aliaksandr "Kuś" Klachko holds a poster with Belarusian fighters — fallen and captured.
However, Aliaksandr places fundraising only in second place. He calls the main problem the chasm between Belarusian veterans and society:
— In war, we are heroes, but when we return to peaceful life, we become a taboo topic. Even a few Belarusian politicians in Europe can barely utter the words "volunteer" or "veteran" out loud.
According to Klachko, European politicians and foundations often classify any assistance to former volunteers as a "military case." Because of this, they may not fit into ordinary humanitarian and social programs.
He believes that such caution is related to the volunteers' military biographies: it is easier for European structures to help refugees or victims of repression than people who voluntarily took up arms. As a result, both former fighters and their families remain outside support programs.
In addition to helping specific individuals, "Kuś" tries to achieve systemic solutions. Klachko highlights two main ones: payments from Ukraine to the families of fallen Belarusian volunteers and a special status for foreigners who fought for Ukraine in their countries of permanent residence, so that "former volunteers and their families feel that society is grateful to them for the decision to defend Ukraine, for risking their lives, health, and family happiness":
— Without status, we are nobody. And it's not so much about preferential travel or payments. Status is a matter of respect. The state should show society: these people defended Ukraine and simultaneously the security of Europe.
Aliaksandr Klachko in Vilnius, anti-war rally on February 27, 2022
"There is a group that managed to intimidate part of the Belarusian diaspora in Ukraine"
In May 2026, a video appeared online featuring Belarusian volunteer Aliaksandr "Lakhvich" Naukovich: with a shaved head and no mustache, he apologized for earlier statements. Lakhvich later stated that he recorded the video after a meeting with a group of military personnel, among whom was Radzivon Batulin.
Aliaksandr Klachko reacted publicly: he shaved his head and mustache as a sign of solidarity with Lakhvich, and compared his opponents' methods to those of Belarusian security forces:
— I saw Kadyrovism, I saw HLIBaZiK methods — only in Ukraine. If Batulin or Vawkalk had faced Lakhvich one-on-one, fought, and gone their separate ways, I would have no questions. But publicly humiliating a person and recording such a video is unacceptable for me.
At first, Klachko didn't even know where Lakhvich was or if he was alive:
— He wasn't answering the phone. At eleven in the evening, I wasn't planning to go anywhere because I had to work on Monday. But half an hour later, I was already heading to the Vilnius bus station, through Warsaw to Kyiv. I thought he might be lying killed somewhere in the forest. Some Belarusians in Ukraine were even afraid to simply answer questions about Lakhvich. I saw fear. For me, this indicated that there is a group that managed to intimidate part of the Belarusian diaspora in Ukraine.
On the way, Lakhvich finally contacted him. Klachko reached Kharkiv region, where they met in person. Lakhvich told him his version of events, but asked him not to relay what he heard publicly, as he feared for his life and didn't believe anyone could protect him:
— He said: "I probably have Stockholm syndrome. It's all my fault." I saw a victim before me. I told him: "San, they showed others through you: look, we are the power here, you should be afraid of us." That's why the public "repentance" was needed — to intimidate the rest. I understood that he was scared, but remaining silent was not an option, because it would only get worse.
After the meeting, Klachko recorded a 27-minute video in which he recounted what he had heard and called on Ukrainian law enforcement agencies to provide a legal assessment of the actions of the conflict participants. But he could not publish the video: he had promised Lakhvich to keep the conversation secret:
— I thought for two days: why do we lose to such people? Because they have no moral barriers, they do what they want. And we do. Kuś gave his word to a brother-in-arms, which means he cannot tell what he heard.
When Klachko informed Lakhvich about the recording, they had a big argument:
— He said: "You promised me. If you publish it, I will deny it and say that I never told you anything like that." I heard a lot of things directed at me: that I was crazy, that I had PTSD. After that, he didn't speak to me for a month.
However, a month and a half later, Lakhvich himself recorded a video in which he told his version of events:
— He's a good man for daring to do it. His video essentially coincides with what I recorded, only mine was more detailed and harsher.
Aliaksandr believes that the case should not remain a public quarrel between volunteers. Since its participants serve in Ukrainian units, the command of the unit, military police, and internal security of Ukraine should investigate:
— This should not be clarified by Kuś, nor by bloggers, nor by the Belarusian diaspora. The participants need to be questioned and a legal assessment given. But I know the Ukrainian system: everything can turn either way. If people cover for each other, the case might not go anywhere.
If a serviceman is afraid to tell what happened to him and does not believe in the law, this is already a question not only for the conflict participants but also for the system. And if everyone remains silent, today one will be publicly humiliated, and tomorrow someone else will be next.
According to Klachko, the Lakhvich incident was just an external manifestation of a larger problem:
— This is an abscess that burst. Such stories cast a shadow on all volunteers and undermine trust in veteran initiatives.
"I will return to Belarus, I just don't know if alive or after"
Despite his illness, emigration, and the necessity of working in construction, Aliaksandr says he now feels happy:
— I am probably living my best life, as strange as that may sound. If, given the circumstances we are in, one can generally call oneself happy, then I am a completely happy person. Sometimes I walk, the wind blows — and I want to spread my arms. It seems like they are like bird wings: the wind will pick you up, and you'll fly over the buildings. That's the mood I sometimes have.
He associates this feeling with the fact that after five and a half years in emigration, life has finally become more stable. Aliaksandr received refugee status and a permanent residence permit in Lithuania, was able to register individual entrepreneurship and find a job that allows him to independently pay for housing and basic expenses:
— Legalization is a very big deal. I have enough money to rent an apartment and live more or less normally, not constantly thinking: "Lord, where do I get money for this or that?"
It's also important that loved ones remain close:
— Liuba was by my side all this time. Work, specific tasks, and the support of a loved one are very grounding.
Aliaksandr Klachko with his wife Liuba. Photo from his personal archive
On August 19, Aliaksandr will turn 42. He recalls that after the hospital in 2023, he felt old and didn't understand how the illness would end. Now his attitude towards age has changed:
— In every new year of life there is its own beauty and its own meaning. At 41 — its own values and taste, at 42 — others, at 50 there will be third ones. Sometimes I think: it would be great to be young and healthy again. And then I realize that I would then lose the experience and the entire path I've walked. I would become a different person. No, I don't want that.
Aliaksandr has two main dreams left:
— One is spiritual: to return as a free Belarusian to a free Belarus. The other is material. I won't name it yet, so it comes true. For its sake, I'm looking for odd jobs and am willing to work even on Saturdays. So if anyone can offer something for extra work — I would be grateful.
If Russia tries to capture Kyiv again or attacks Lithuania, Aliaksandr will go to fight again, even though due to his kidney disease he is officially unfit for service even in wartime:
— If Russian troops again advance on Kyiv or Russia attacks Lithuania, I will seriously ask myself whether to take up arms again and fight them. Not for any particular country as such, but to prevent the "Russian world" from winning.
However, Aliaksandr still connects his main future with Belarus. He believes that he will return to his homeland one way or another:
— I will return to Belarus. The only thing I don't know is whether I will do it during my lifetime, or whether my remains will be reburied in the cemetery in Damashavichy near Baranavichy, where my great-grandfather is buried. But I will return in any case.