Viktoria Kulsha: Rechytsa Colony is Hell

"I perceived Homiel pre-trial detention center as a sanatorium after penal colony No. 24"

Viktoria was detained in November 2020 in connection with the Telegram chat "Drivers of 97% of Minsk". Initially, she was charged under Article 342 and Part 3 of Article 361 of the Criminal Code. However, in February 2021, the case was closed due to the absence of corpus delicti. But immediately new charges were brought against her — under Article 342 of the Criminal Code (organization and preparation of actions that grossly violate public order).

Viktoria's first sentence was announced in the summer of 2021. At that time, she was sentenced to two and a half years in a penal colony. But the political prisoner never gained freedom after the expiration of that term — during her imprisonment, she was convicted four times under Article 411 of the Criminal Code (disobedience to the demands of the colony administration), adding one more year of imprisonment each time. And shortly before her pardon and forced deportation, a sixth criminal case was initiated against the woman — under Article 410 of the Criminal Code (actions disorganizing the work of a correctional institution that enforces a sentence of deprivation of liberty). This is the first instance of a criminal case being brought against political prisoners under this article.

For the duration of trials and pending appeals, Viktoria was transferred each time to Homiel pre-trial detention center No. 3.

According to her, after the inhumane conditions of detention in women's penal colony No. 24, the conditions in the pre-trial detention center were relatively mild for her: "I perceived Homiel pre-trial detention center as a sanatorium, because I really came there to rest. After penal colony No. 24, when I got there, I was in absolutely normal conditions, in which any person who ends up in such places should be. Yes, there were certain nuances: solitary confinement, but everything was polite, correct, and respectful. They didn't pass my letters, didn't give me parcels and packages from strangers. But I was already prepared for this, as I had gone through it more than once. Medical assistance was provided to me, food was like for everyone else. Books were issued on a regular basis and according to my choice.

Nothing bad happened to me in the detention centers throughout my stay. In Homiel, of course, there were restrictions, pressure. We were constantly reminded that we were a certain category of people, to whom a certain approach would be applied. But I cannot say that there was any pressure. Medical assistance was provided on equal terms with everyone.

In Zhodzina, it was a bit harsher; punishment cells already started there. But I cannot say that there was physical or psychological pressure there. Yes, they had a "command" to work with me in a certain way. But I perceived this quite adequately. But they did not resort to "personal" attacks: there were no humiliations, insults, or physical violence against me."

According to the former political prisoner, employees were forbidden from talking to her on any topic. When she tried to initiate a conversation to find out something or ask for something, they made it clear that no communication of any kind was possible.

Viktoria says that the conditions in Homiel women's penal colony No. 4 are much milder than in penal colony No. 24 in Zarechcha.

"PC-4, of course — these are restrictions, regime, internal regulations, compliance with requirements. It's understandable that we deny all of this, as we were unlawfully convicted and the very fact of any coercion is denied by the psyche. But in PC-4, no one humiliated me. When I was in SHIZO and PKT, employees came to me and addressed me exclusively by my patronymic.

There was a certain command, I understood that, and the employees didn't strongly hide that there should be a certain pressure. But I cannot say that there was any specific attitude towards me — it was about performing certain tasks. They needed to push me into violating Article 411, and they did that. The pressure consisted of them constantly fabricating these reports for no reason, constantly placing me in SHIZO and PKT cells. But this wasn't because they wanted to or liked it, but because they are executor-people and carry out orders from above.

I also vividly remember when, in 2022, employees brought documents to Palina Sharenda-Panasyuk in the PKT regarding the restriction of her parental rights. They told her to sign the document confirming that she had familiarized herself with it. To which she replied that she does not trade her children, and therefore would not sign anything."

According to the former political prisoner, the employees themselves suggested she write a petition for pardon, but there was no coercion to do so, nor any punishment for refusal.

After being transferred from quarantine to the squad, Viktoria, like all prisoners, was assigned to work. But the woman immediately warned that she would not sew uniforms for security forces. She did not refuse to go to work but emphasized that she would not perform this specific task.

"They tried to convince me for a very long time. I said that I am an adult and make my own decisions. They told me there would be consequences. The next morning they took me to the factory, and I again said that I would not sew uniforms. The head of the workshop, at that time a civilian woman, called me in. She told me: 'Alyaksandrauna, you will not leave my office until you agree to sit at the machine. If it takes a day, I will spend it. But I will persuade you. It's not worth it. I will find you work that will meet your requirements and standards. I will come up with work for you: either towels or sheets. If you find it unpleasant to sew uniforms, then you will not do it. I do not want punitive measures to be taken against you.'"

As a result, Viktoria started working on her own terms. The woman recalls that during the first years of her imprisonment, she did not seek medical attention, as there was no need.

"I only began to physically deteriorate about a year to a year and a half before my so-called release — already in penal colony No. 24. Therefore, I personally did not seek medical help in PC-4. Medications from relatives, which they sent in medical parcels, were given to me. And the warden signed requests for vitamins without problems."

"Penal Colony No. 24 is Hell"

Penal Colony No. 24 is an institution for women who have repeatedly committed crimes. Currently, only two political prisoners are held there: Volha Mayorava and Alena Lazarchyk. The colony is known for its inhumane conditions and pressure on political prisoners.

"PC-24 is hell. I don't know how Palina and I endured all of that and remained sane. I wasn't in any good squads. Only in the last year before my release was I placed in a separate squad, which is considered the best. But I stayed there for a short period of time. There was the head of housekeeping, who constantly tried to persuade me to cooperate, telling me how sorry she was for me, and how I should sign everything because my family was waiting for me at home."

"The instruction was for me to simply stay alive"

Medical assistance was not provided to the former political prisoner in Zarechcha: "If you're sick, the medical help there is 'we'd help, but we have nothing to.' Antiviral drugs are not recognized there. And they openly state that they won't give them to you for two reasons: first, they simply don't have them; second, scientists haven't proven the positive effect of anti-inflammatory drugs or antibiotics on the body. Regarding medical parcels, it's difficult: they would sign requests for simple vitamins, but not for anything more serious. Because all of that is a signal home that something is wrong with you and you need help. Therefore, requests for such parcels were certainly not signed for me."

Already in Zarechcha, the woman began to have serious health problems. The lack of medical care worsened the situation.

"My joints deteriorated there, tachycardia appeared, my teeth crumbled. I understood with each passing day that I was breaking down more and more. And every time you ask for help, they tell you: 'You have a short sentence. Get out and get treated.' But, given that my sentence was endless, and everyone understood this, it sounded like mockery."

Viktoria is convinced that all factors immediately contributed to the deterioration of her health: stress, poor nutrition, detention conditions, vitamin deficiency, cold in the SHIZO. Initially, problems started with her teeth. This is one of the most common problems among prisoners. According to Viktoria, while there is a dentist in the Homiel colony, it was not even possible to see one in Zarechcha. Later, gynecological problems were added to this.

"The gynecologist herself said that she had questions about me being forbidden to receive medical aid. She herself confirmed that I needed to be taken to the city to see specialized doctors. The only thing they did was an ultrasound, which confirmed that the problems existed and were worsening.

We tried to order medications from home for other issues. I drank those preparations non-stop. The gynecologist said she explained this to the colony head, but she herself could not influence his decision.

During my entire imprisonment, I was never taken to a hospital, although the gynecologist justified this necessity. But she could do nothing, nor could she provide the necessary help on site.

I don't think it was the head of the colony who decided not to take me to the hospital. I think he was generally indifferent to me and my health. The instruction was for me to simply stay alive. A trip to the city would simply mean publicity."

"We will only take you to the hospital when you are unconscious"

Throughout her imprisonment, Viktoria declared hunger strikes several times. But only when she realized she could no longer withstand the pressure.

"For example, I am in a punishment isolation cell. I understand there are no grounds, but I was placed there because it was an order. And into this very foul, very dirty, very smelly, small cell that is not ventilated, they put asocial people with mental disorders who do not know how and do not want to use hygiene products. The stench there was so bad it made my eyes water. There is a constant turnover of people: some served 10 days, others come to their place. And you're already losing your mind from these people, from these conditions. And you just get tired of it. Sometimes I didn't even know that another report had been filed against me. They would just come and tell me: 'Kulsha, you have another 15 days from the head of the colony.' And you realize that you just can't take it anymore, then a hunger strike seems like the only possible way out. Because a hunger strike means a deterioration of health and some consequences that will make them understand that there is a threat to life. There's no other way to stop them. The more you endure, the more psychological and physical pressure is exerted on you. But my hunger strike was never a means of manipulation."

"When you realize you can die at any moment — that stops you"

During one of her hunger strikes, she managed to last 49 days without food. For the first three weeks, doctors paid no attention to her, Viktoria recalls. They didn't measure her blood pressure, nor did they inquire about her well-being. Then, when it became clear from Viktoria's appearance that the hunger strike was already having consequences, doctors began to check her condition, and a week later — took blood for tests, measured her temperature and blood pressure. A few days later, the political prisoner was given IV drips. Viktoria says that kidney problems were the reason for this.

"Previously, I had no problems with them, but then my kidneys immediately started to fail. A large amount of acetone and protein immediately appeared in my urine. And the head of the medical unit said that this story would not end without dialysis for me."

In the colony, I was given resuscitation aid twice: once when hypoglycemia began, as my blood sugar dropped below one, and a second time when my blood pressure dropped to 60 over 40 in the PKT. I remember little; I felt terrible.

"I returned to food when I realized that medical help was poor and I was at unjustified risk. If my mother and daughter weren't waiting for me at home, I might have gone all the way. But when you realize you can die at any moment — that stops you."

During her hunger strike in the Homiel pre-trial detention center, Viktoria's condition sharply worsened: kidney problems began. Instead of immediate hospitalization, she was effectively given to understand that assistance would be limited — and that she would only be taken to the hospital when she could no longer speak and lost consciousness.

"When I was on a hunger strike in the Homiel pre-trial detention center, they manipulated the fact that my kidneys were failing. And they really were failing for some period of time. The head of the medical unit said: 'Viktoria Alyaksandrauna, you must understand that we will provide medical assistance to you within our capabilities. Your body is holding up, it’s not too worn out, but we will only take you to the hospital if you are unconscious, if you are in an unconscious state and unable to speak.' This meant they would only take her for dialysis — if her kidneys had simply failed."

"I was held in SHIZO for a cumulative total of over a year"

The former political prisoner recalls that women with mental disorders, whom they could not keep in general squads, were always placed in the SHIZO cell with her and Palina Sharenda-Panasyuk. Detention with such women, according to the former political prisoner, was dangerous and unbearable.

"SHIZO is cold. I was held indefinitely in isolation. Throughout my entire stay in penal colony No. 24, I was held in SHIZO for a cumulative total of over a year. At some point, you just stop keeping track of time. Sometimes, new women were placed with me, and they would ask me how long I had been there. And I wouldn't even know. Time drags on and on. No clocks, no calendars. I think I was without leaving for 70 days. I was practically never in the general squad."

After five years of imprisonment, Viktoria was awarded the rank of seamstress only three weeks before her release. It can only be obtained after a three-month internship. This means that from 2021 until early 2025, Viktoria was not in the general squad for even three months cumulatively — she was constantly sent to SHIZO or PKT, or transferred to a pre-trial detention center for another trial. Before receiving the seamstress rank, Viktoria was considered an "apprentice" at the factory. The day after being awarded the rank, she was again placed in SHIZO.

Over four years in the colony, Viktoria was tried four times under Article 411 of the Criminal Code, and each time one more year of imprisonment was added to her sentence. According to the former political prisoner, she was constantly tried for the same violations.

The PKT in penal colony No. 24 is practically no different from SHIZO in terms of conditions, but there it is allowed to read books, sleep on bedding, and go for a 20-minute walk every day.

In addition to depriving prisoners of visits and calls, destroying letters, and transferring them to SHIZO and PKT, the colony administration actively uses psychological pressure.

"For example, there was a situation when I came from the factory, and the head of housekeeping told me that I would be on toilet duty today. I said that I was not on the schedule. To which she replied that I was now on duty and after inspection, I must proceed with cleaning. If necessary — I will proceed. An inspection takes place, and afterward, I notice an operative department employee with a video camera approaching. He comes to the squad, calls me, and says: 'And now you will clean the toilets, and I will film it. If you refuse, materials will be compiled against you for refusing to comply with the legal demands of the administration.' And so you see before you a degenerate who behaves this way because he understands that I am in a deliberately more vulnerable position relative to him. And you can do nothing: neither argue with him nor try to prove anything to him. Because this will lead to further repression. When all this execution ends and you leave the toilet, you are ashamed to look people in the eye because you have been publicly humiliated. But in the squad, people understood everything, and there was no harassment. They came up and said that this simply needed to be endured and told me not to give in to provocations.

In penal colony No. 24, zombified people work. They seem to fear no publicity at all. I had the feeling that if an employee there was told to throw me to the floor and finish me off with kicks, he would do it."

"You start to think that you will never be released"

The hardest thing during her imprisonment, according to Viktoria, was the feeling that she might never be released.

"It's absolutely impossible to come to terms with that. You don't get used to it. When it's the first Article 411 charge, then the second, third, fourth, when you constantly hear that you will never be released. You start to think that, yes, it's probably true, that you will never be released. So you stop dreaming, you stop making plans.

The second to last time I arrived at the pre-trial detention center under Article 411, an operative officer approached me and asked how I was doing. I told him he was asking such foolish questions because I had arrived again under a new criminal case. I said I was so tired of it all that it would probably be simpler if they just gave me 15 years and left me alone. I told him, 'Let's draw up a plea bargain, you give me 8 years, and leave me in peace.' He asked if there was anything to try me for. I offered him to write whatever he deemed necessary, and I would sign everything. Even treason, I wouldn't even read it, I'd just sign it. But he said that wasn't interesting to him. That is, tormenting me every year with these transfers, SHIZO, and trials — that's interesting."

"Do you think Sharenda even remembers you?"

In the colony, such strong pressure was exerted not only on Viktoria but also on Palina Sharenda-Panasyuk. The women were held in adjacent punishment isolation cells. Sometimes, just a nod of the head was enough for them to support each other. After Palina's release, they tried to turn Viktoria against the released political prisoner. But their connection was what supported Viktoria. It was important for her that at least one of them got out and could tell about all the horrors of women's penal colony No. 24.

"When Palina and I were imprisoned, we had one wish — that at least one of us would get out and start talking about this horror. And, when Palina was released, they began to manipulate the situation. They said: 'Here Sharenda got out, went to Poland, do you think she even remembers you? She didn't even send you a single postcard.' I understood that this was not true. It was impossible to even imagine that she would get out and not start speaking. This hope is what I lived for: that at least one of us would get out. None of us could even imagine that something like this could happen in the 21st century, in a legal state. Here he [Lukashenka] says: 'Year of the Belarusian Woman.' But he is simply at war with us. We instill such fear in him. He not only isolated us, deprived us of something — he is simply destroying us. What 'Year of the Belarusian Woman' can we even talk about when so many unlawfully convicted women are in prisons for simply expressing their opinion.

I am insanely grateful to Palina. When we met, we couldn't even speak, we just hugged and cried. When she got out, the employees told me: 'You should hate Sharenda for getting out while you're still sitting here.' I told them that I was happy, but they would never understand that. And Palina would have been glad and happy if I had gotten out. It's a great happiness that at least one of us succeeded. But they didn't understand that.

We always believed that we had not been forgotten. The internal feeling and hope that we are remembered helped us to endure imprisonment. We just don't know about it. Maybe they can't do everything to change this situation, but we definitely haven't been forgotten."

"I thought it was a corpse," — on removal from the colony and forced deportation

Viktoria's release came as a surprise, considering that a week before it, a seventh criminal case had already been initiated against the woman, under which she faced up to 10 years of imprisonment.

"My sentence was due to end on January 23, 2026. I understood that this was unlikely, but I really wanted to believe it. And on December 5, my world was shattered when I was informed about a new criminal case."

At the end of November 2025, Viktoria suffered a serious injury in the colony, after which she was taken to a hospital in Homiel. There, an employee of the Department of Penitentiary Enforcement came to her and hinted that she might be released soon. But the woman didn't believe it, as she had been repeatedly promised this since 2023. The last time, they tried to persuade her to cooperate with GUBOPiK and KGB, but she refused.

After the hospital, Viktoria was transferred not to PC-24, but to the medical unit of Homiel colony No. 4. On the morning of December 13, employees came for her and told her to pack her belongings. Viktoria is one of 123 political prisoners who were forcibly deported from Belarus directly from places of detention. The woman was not given her passport — only a certificate of identity confirmation.

"I was sure they would take me to penal colony No. 24. They led me into the corridor, and there was a box with my civilian clothes; they told me to change. Then I understood that something was amiss. Because for transfers, they take us in prison uniform. And when I saw a small bag with money, and an employee told me to sign documents for withdrawing money from my personal account, I understood that something was happening. No one told me that I was being released, and I didn't ask any questions. I only asked about my passport, to which they replied that it was none of my business.

They led me outside the colony grounds, where there was a minivan, and employees in balaclavas and uniforms. They told me to get in, and I had a plaster corset on my neck. I saw a man lying in the front seat in civilian clothes, also with handcuffs on his hands. He was lying face down on the seat in such an awkward position that I couldn't understand how that was even possible. Since this scene was so surreal, I thought it was a corpse. Because it was a motionless body. And my first thought was — they are taking me out. They helped me get into the minivan because my hands were handcuffed.

They told me to lie down, but I replied that I couldn't because my neck was broken. Then they allowed me to sit, but my hands had to be visible. Even though they were handcuffed. They put a bag over my head and drove off.

I felt a bit relieved when I heard the man who was lying down start to speak. He asked to turn over because he felt stiff all over. He asked if he could at least ride on his knees. In the end, they allowed him to sit up. I understood that this person also had a similar story, that we were not going to penal colony No. 24, so I assumed we were being taken out."

"Until the very end, I had the feeling that everyone else would be taken out, but I would be returned to the colony"

Talking and asking questions during the journey was forbidden. They were brought to a field where buses were waiting to take the political prisoners to the border. Viktoria and the man were led out of the car, their handcuffs were removed, but their hands were taped together with scotch tape, and they were led onto a bus. According to the woman, she had not even imagined that she could be taken to Ukraine.

"I didn't understand at all where they were taking us. Those who had hats/caps over their eyes could at least see the sunset. But I had a bag over my head, so I had no idea where we were going. The bag was removed from me only in the Ukrainian bus, and the scotch tape on my hands was cut. Only then did we see that it was Ukraine. I would probably have been less surprised if it had been Brazil or Venezuela in front of me. Because Ukraine, military actions, closed borders... How is this even possible? But of course, it was joy.

When we were being transferred to the Ukrainian bus, a KGB officer walked around, filming on his phone. I sat crying when I realized that we were indeed being taken out. Because until the very end, I had the feeling that everyone else would be taken out, but I would be returned to the colony.

What a mockery. So I cried when the bag was removed from my head. And she removed it and said: 'Why are you crying, you should be happy.' I replied: 'I would explain, but I'm afraid you just wouldn't understand.'

It seems to me that everyone on the bus had doubts until the very end that we were actually being released. That is, we didn't care where they were taking us. The main thing was that it was all over."

"Silence is a path to nowhere, it unties their hands"

Viktoria is convinced that all facts of cruel treatment against political prisoners, as well as facts of torture, pressure, and terrible detention conditions, must be publicized, because silence unties the hands of the security forces.

"Absolutely no stories about a person from freedom affect the administration's attitude towards him. If people get out and start telling these horrors, well, how can they harm me? I was treated according to some specific individual scenario. Ivanov came out and told how bad he had it. So what?

All these atrocities must certainly be publicized. Because it won't get better, and worse is unlikely. If pressure begins, it is definitely not because someone said something. And if we remain silent, then they can do whatever they want with us there, and no one will know about it. Under this Article 411, people can be tormented, and no one will even know about it. People will get sick, and no one will know about it. Look what happened with Statkevich; no one even knew.

I believe that silence is such folly. I think all of this must resonate loudly. For statistics, to track how many people are there. This causes a great public outcry, including international. This needs to be shouted from all platforms. Silence is a path to nowhere, it unties their hands. The less it is covered, the more opportunities they have to do it with impunity. Therefore, it is very important to publicize their names, to make them visible. So that they don't think: 'Oh, nonsense, they wrote about penal colony No. 24.' But if 'Ivanov' understands that tomorrow his name will be dragged through the media, his family, children, neighbors, his wife's colleagues will read it, then he will think 10 times about how to behave. I think this should stop them."

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