"Nasha Niva" spoke with three Belarusians who are forced to work and create anonymously to avoid bringing trouble to their loved ones remaining in Belarus, and to protect themselves. How it is to always be under masks and in disguise — in their sincere monologues.
Volny Chor (Free Choir)
Photo: Nasha Niva
Volny Chor (Free Choir) emerged in August 2020. The permanent collective grew out of the first protest actions organized by musicians of the Belarusian State Philharmonic. On August 25, 2020, the choir held its first singing action and performed in the "Stolitsa" shopping center. Almost immediately, law enforcement began hunting for the artists. Already in 2021, many members of the collective were forced to emigrate due to persecution. In 2024, the choir was recognized as an "extremist formation," so even abroad, they cannot perform with open faces.
Recently, Volny Chor released a new album — it's a substantial work of 16 songs, achieved despite choir members living in different cities and countries. The musicians continue to gather weekly for rehearsals and go on tours worldwide, demonstrating that protest against injustice and evil lives on even under repressive conditions.
Alena, voice of Volny Chor
Photo: Nasha Niva
Alena is a musician by her first education: she graduated from a college in Minsk and then taught solfeggio and music literature at a school. Later, she went into business. She joined Volny Chor from its first performances near the capital's philharmonic. She was forced to leave her homeland after a series of detentions of choristers and local activists. She continues to sing in Volny Chor abroad. For safety reasons, only her husband and a couple of close people know about it.
— I was always in opposition. But in such a way, like most Belarusians — in my own bubble, with my own people.
In 2020, a friend invited me to be an observer. I then, you know, like everyone, felt that I could do something. Of course, we additionally attended marches; we immediately formed a community in our district. At the marches, I sang "Pahonya" and various uplifting songs like that.
And once near the Philharmonic, I met musicians singing there. I immediately thought: "Oh my God, how beautiful, how wonderful this is. This is a real revolution for us, if even a state institution has come out!" And my gut told me: "Alena, grab it, seize it, participate with them. Feel alive, don't feel like an amoeba!" I approached them and said that I also sing, I can learn parts — and that's how I eventually joined the choir. A little later, it became much harder to join our ranks: one had to go through five stages of authentication.
At first, we performed in medical masks, after all — COVID. And the less "vegetarian" the times became, the more actively we disguised ourselves: we started wearing wigs, different clothes, some funny hats — we would go into the shopping center restrooms, change there, and blend into the crowd. Later, branded balaclavas and hoodies appeared.
For me, all this was a cultural form of protest and at the same time a means not to go crazy. To feel that you can do something. Because when our people went to Riga after the elections — "to the barricades" — I immediately said that I believed I would be a useless combat unit there. They would have crushed us like nuts: it was immediately clear that the police were not with us.
But I didn't immediately understand how much the choir irritated the "authorities." It seemed to me that we were like jesters at a fair. Just some creative expression by music teachers. But then came the realization of how much of a thorn in their side we were.
This realization came during an action at the opera house; that's when I understood that it was all real, that society was actively watching us and that they liked what we were doing. We were like cultural soldiers — at various times, over 300 people participated in the choir.
At the peak of our popularity, our conductor Halina Kazimіrauskaya was arrested, and once, minibuses arrived at one of our rehearsal spots — a search began in the building. But the choristers were so disciplined regarding security that within five minutes, they gathered all the notes, masks, costumes, cleaned everything, and evacuated through different exits — as if dissolving into thin air again.
After all this, I realized that it was serious, that "little songs" could lead me to prison — the games were over. Moreover, almost everyone from our district chat was taken, the police were simply lurking near my entrance — it was time to lie low. It was spring 2021, and I temporarily moved out of town to be less noticeable. I didn't even have mobile reception there — I think that saved me.
With the choir, we only recorded online concerts (the last live action took place at Kamarouka), plus the first groups started going abroad for performances. At first, I didn't understand why perform there — who needed it? "We are very concerned and express our sympathy." It seemed that our activity only made sense in Belarus, and if we couldn't perform at home, we should go underground.
But the choristers who went to the first concerts abroad did not return. Criminal cases were opened against them (not for the choir, but everyone had enough reasons). I myself also decided to go perform abroad, and as soon as I left, I was stunned: oh, so normal life is like this? And feeling safe is like this? And I didn't want to go back (my parents, of course, didn't understand this).
To this day, only my husband and a couple of close people know that I sing in "Volny Chor." We are forbidden to talk about our involvement.
Singing in a mask is very difficult and uncomfortable: your face always sweats. And it's hard to look at the notes — the mask covers the entire view, so you have to learn everything by heart. And for me, as an artist, of course, it is very important for my face to be open. It's one of the instruments through which we convey our feelings, it's our contact.
It's most difficult when the conductor is also wearing a mask — it's like driving a car without side mirrors. Plus, I won't lie, any creative person minimally desires some recognition. But in today's conditions, conspiracy is more important.
Kalinouski Regiment
Photo: Nasha Niva
The Kastuś Kalinouski Regiment consists of Belarusian volunteers and is part of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. It was created in March 2022 with the aim of defending against the Russian invasion.
The volunteers of the Regiment consider Russia a common enemy of Belarus and Ukraine. The main mission of the warriors is the liberation of Belarus through the liberation of Ukraine.
On September 25, 2024, the Supreme Court of Belarus recognized the Kalinouski Regiment as a "terrorist organization." The court заочно sentenced only five leaders and fighters of the Regiment to 90 years of imprisonment, as well as large fines.
Ales, soldier, defended Ukraine as part of the Kalinouski Regiment
Photo: Nasha Niva
61-year-old Ales from Brest previously fought in Afghanistan. In Belarus, he worked as a crane operator. In 2020, the man was jailed for a day for joining the general strike. In 2021, he was detained, and upon release from the temporary detention facility, he decided to leave Belarus. As soon as the war in Ukraine began, he went there as a volunteer. He celebrated his 60th birthday in combat positions.
— My relatives stopped talking to me after I went to war. Most people think in terms of "this is not our war." Everyone has their comfort zone. Someone has an apartment, someone else has something... People will settle for the minimum, but for me, that's slavery. And inaction kills in such critical situations.
I served two years in the international battalion, and if it weren't for back problems, I would have continued. Now I feel like a real internationalist warrior (after the Regiment, I went to the International Legion). And in Afghanistan, I was an occupier.
On the day of the withdrawal of aggressive occupying Soviet troops from there, I always ask their people for forgiveness. I realized all this later, though — I flew there young, green, and only because I wanted to escape hazing in the army, where I had been drafted shortly before. We all would have gone anywhere to avoid serving in the Soviet army: such horrors happened there.
By the way, I voted for Lukashenka twice in my time. But then I apologized to Zianon Pazniak: I admitted my mistake. In the entire civilized world, a president is elected for two terms, but Lukashenka has become ossified.
In Afghanistan, I learned to dig trenches well (I served in an engineer battalion there), and this once saved me in Ukraine when a mortar shell landed two meters from me. Only the blast wave hit me then. If the trench had been bad, I would no longer be alive. I'm lucky, it turns out. I've been in two wars — no wounds, no concussions. But dying wasn't as scary as it was when I was young in Afghanistan: I've lived a good life already, and not in vain.
War is hard. There's also a lot of undisciplined youth today; I tried to re-educate them slowly. But I will say that I feel better today than before Ukraine. My physical condition is better (I was even worse at 30 than I am now at 61 — I can easily do 20 push-ups, squats). And my psychological state has improved. Maybe because I generally love adrenaline and challenges.
I served until I was 60 and retired as a sergeant. I wanted to extend my contract further to get Ukrainian citizenship in the future, but my back failed me. And, as it later turned out, the Armed Forces of Ukraine do not sign contracts with fighters from other countries who are over 60. Today, I continue to work on a construction site for a Polish company — we are currently building a private parking lot.
I maintain security to harm no one close to me. Although I immediately offered my family to move in with me — they gave us housing for the first time from work, everything would have been fine. But they chose their path, and mine is different.
America and the West initially abandoned Ukraine, giving little weaponry, that's why everything is like this. And Putin, meanwhile, is crazy, throwing everything with meat. I still believe that Ukraine will win, though I don't know when. Then we will quickly free ourselves from the "Russian world" too.
"Extremist" Media
Photo: Nasha Niva
Since 2021, non-state media in Belarus have actively begun to be recognized as "extremist materials." This was a continuation of suppressing free speech in the country — following the beatings at protests, detentions, and criminal cases against journalists. Lukashenka's officials apparently found the measures, which included forcing people who provided alternative information to society into emigration, insufficient, so they began to label all media with extremist status — so that Belarusians would stop reading and watching them, reporting news, because every interaction with a journalist began to carry the risk of arrest.
Valeryia, journalist for an independent publication recognized as "extremist"
Photo: Nasha Niva
Minsk resident Valeryia has been in journalism since 2019. At that time, she was still studying at the Faculty of Journalism, where she went because she loved people and writing since school. Even as a student, she began collaborating with various youth publications. "I also had a youthful maximalist desire to change the world, to do something useful."
— The publication I work for today was recognized as "extremist" after its evacuation abroad (earlier, some employees were arrested). From that very moment, I started working under a pseudonym because most of my relatives remain in Belarus. For them, my involvement with an "extremist formation" poses a direct threat.
I have two pseudonyms — I choose which one to sign a text with, depending on the topic and format.
The issue of professional self-realization for me has receded into the background. The desire to make a name for myself, to promote myself as a correspondent under my own name, is not as important to me as people's safety. Although, of course, sometimes my ego and ambition make themselves known: you wrote a great text, it's being discussed, but no one knows that it was you who wrote it — damn it, how can that be!
One time, my acquaintances discussed my material right in front of me, and I had to pretend that I had no involvement in it.
You continue to play by the rules because you understand: such is the time. If you want to stay in the profession with minimal risks for your loved ones, so as not to betray anyone, you have to hide. Especially since my father was subjected to a search in 2022 in connection with another criminal case. I don't know what that case was specifically about. But honestly, I don't even want to clarify.
Of course, it's not possible to completely hide — much in our profession relies on personal contacts. One way or another, I have to meet with people, see them, conduct online interviews... But if possible, I do it with the camera off (or only by phone call) and introduce myself exclusively with a pseudonym (especially if I'm talking to someone who is in Belarus or whose background I don't know at all). Not even all my relatives and acquaintances know where I work.
They are aware that I'm involved in journalism (after all, I studied at the Faculty of Journalism). But in which specific publication — I don't tell them. In such a scenario, they won't even have to lie about my work if they are suddenly questioned. I have a job, I have enough to live on — this information about me is sufficient for them.
Of course, even so, I cannot be 100% insured against, for example, one of my interlocutors turning out to be an agent. But that's something I can no longer control. And if you constantly think that every one of your interlocutors is potentially recruited, it's better not to work in journalism at all.
Journalism has changed for us, there's nothing you can do about it. Not long ago, 14-year-old Maksim Ziankovich went missing in Belarus, and if we were working at home, we would obviously go to the scene, talk to volunteers, the family... But in emigration, all you can do is somehow virtually try to understand the situation as thoroughly as possible.
We have fewer opportunities, fewer reports, exclusives, human contacts in general. It has become harder to find heroes — because of this "extremism," not everyone wants to talk to journalists even anonymously today. Our version of journalism is forcibly limited. But I like that we don't stop and look for ways to extricate ourselves from these realities. We invent new formats, ideas. It's like water flowing, somewhere the current is blocked, but it still finds where to spill out next.
And yes, we don't do classical journalism, but it seems that all Belarusian [independent] journalists have become more qualified than our foreign colleagues in recent years, simply because to create the simplest news, we now have to make many times more effort.
Sometimes I experience something like fatigue and a misunderstanding of the future: you constantly balance between two worlds — the country you write about and the country you live in. Sometimes you wonder: maybe, finally, stop and concentrate exclusively on the problems and news of your current place of residence? But what stops me is that there are not many colleagues left in journalism now anyway, and we need to counter propaganda. And also, I really don't know how to do anything else (smiles).
As long as we are needed, as long as Belarusians read us, we will do something.
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