Former political prisoner Hanna Kurys: I cried because they didn't let me say a human farewell to anyone

Hanna herself says that she ended up behind bars «for calling the war a war,» and she recalls her release as a nighttime wake-up, handcuffs, and a journey into the unknown — without the chance to say goodbye, Belsat reports.

— Anya, tell us a little about yourself.

— I am 23 years old, from Baranovichi. I studied at Baranovichi State University, majoring in «teaching modern foreign languages» — I was supposed to become an English teacher.

— What year were you in when you were taken?

— In my third year.

— You were tried under four articles. Which ones?

— Art. 370 (desecration of state symbols), Art. 368 (insulting Alyaksandr Lukashenka), Art. 130 (inciting hatred or discord), and Art. 369‑1 (discrediting Belarus). On December 9, 2024, I was sentenced to two years.

— How were you detained?

— It all started with an administrative arrest. People in civilian clothes from the police simply came to my house and said that I had to go with them to the Main Internal Affairs Directorate «just for a few words.» I was groggy, couldn't understand at all — who these people were, why I had to go to the police, and so on.

At the police station, they took my phone, found some picture, said it was an administrative offense, and put me in a detention center. Then there was a trial, and I was given 10 days.

But since they took my phone, they found everything they wanted on that phone — for all four of my criminal articles. They went into my Instagram story archive. That is, all my «extremist materials» were not publicly accessible on my page, but they were in the archive.

In principle, it can be said that I was imprisoned for calling the war a war.

Павялічыць

— How did your «release» process go?

— They came to me at midnight. I was sleeping peacefully, heard someone making noise in our section. I opened my eyes and saw our operational curator and another colony employee. He shone a flashlight in my face and at my bunk tag. Then he said: «Get ready, you're going home.» I thought: what? What's happening? He said: «This is not a joke, pack all your things and go out into the corridor.»

I got up, I was just shaking, I just couldn't believe what was happening. There were two other women with me, and we were taken to a quarantine room. They took our uniforms, cut up our ID tags, and threw them away. In the morning, the deputy head of operational work came. He said that we would most likely be deported. And added: «When you arrive, they will throw these white-red-white rags on you. Don't give in. Make the right choice.»

Then they handcuffed us, put us on a bus, and we just drove into the unknown.

On the way, I cried, which surprised my escorts — you're being released, why are you weeping? But I cried because they didn't let me say a human farewell to anyone.

They took us to some wasteland, took off the handcuffs, then asked us to stretch out our arms and simply wrapped them with tape. Honestly, the thought crossed my mind that they would just shoot me here and that would be it. But then we were transferred to another bus.

— When did you find out that you were being taken specifically to Ukraine?

— When we saw the sign «Welcome to Ukraine.»

— You spent several days in Chernihiv. What was it like to be in a country where there is a war?

— I felt confirmation that I was imprisoned for the truth. For calling the war a war. And the most surprising thing is that in a country where there is a war, I felt safer than in a country with a «peaceful sky.»

There was humane treatment, support. These were very strange feelings.

We were «released» on December 13, and on the 15th, it was my birthday. And the volunteers brought me a cake. It was unexpected and very pleasant. Overall, the attitude towards us was very kind.

Павялічыць

— Tell us about the penal colony. What were the conditions like there?

— I could talk about it for hours. In detachment 13, where I was, the living conditions were good — kitchen, plumbing, showers. In other detachments, there often aren't even normal toilets — just a hole in the floor. In the 21st century — just a hole in the floor. As for the attitude from the administration, it varied. Some tried to remain neutral, but there were also those who constantly provoked — young lady, played at revolution?

— How were your relations with other prisoners?

— In our detachment, we had a strict warden, so the atmosphere was calm. But, of course, there were many political prisoners — Katya Andreeva, Lena Malinovska, and others.

— Comparing temporary detention facilities (ICHU), pre-trial detention centers (SIZA), and the penal colony, where was it most difficult?

— Probably in the pre-trial detention center (SIZA) — I was in both the Brest and Baranovichi ones. In the Brest one, medical care was practically non-existent, and it was difficult for me with my health problems, but some had it even worse. A girl with an ectopic pregnancy almost bled to death; they didn't provide her with medical help and refused to call an ambulance.

But generally, each place of detention is a small branch of hell. For example, in the temporary detention facility (ICHU) in Baranovichi, where I served my «days,» I slept on the floor in a light jumpsuit. It was very cold, the radiators weren't heating, there was no hot water. A parcel with warm clothes was not delivered. On the tenth day, I felt unwell, I started to suffocate, and they took me to the hospital by ambulance. And then they brought me back to finish a few hours of arrest.

In the colony, the conditions in the factory were terrible.

— You are now in Vilnius. Where do you live?

— I had accommodation arranged in a co-living space. Can you imagine, I live alone. After a year and a half spent in detention, constantly surrounded by people, these are again very strange feelings.

— Who is left in Belarus for you?

— I actually have a difficult situation because I have both a mother and a father, and a younger brother, and a grandmother. But I only communicate with my brother and my father. Because my mother… I don't know, she's probably very afraid of this whole situation. She convinces me that I need to return to Belarus urgently.

— Do you plan to?

— To this Belarus — definitely not. A few days before my «release,» I spoke with another prisoner — I told her that I would be released and would build my life in Belarus, because I have no one abroad. But since they decided for me — then it's a sign.

— What are your plans for the near future?

— I'm waiting for my dad to arrive. I'm afraid to look too far ahead. I have no education, no job, and generally nothing. But I had nothing there either.

— Do you feel euphoria from freedom?

— Not that either. Although it's wonderful to be in a country where you can feel free. And not be afraid.

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