Viktoryia Kulsha: Rechytsa Colony Is Hell

"I Perceived the Homiel Detention Center as a Sanatorium After Penal Colony No. 24"

Viktoryia 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 a crime. 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).

Viktoryia'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. However, the political prisoner was never released after completing this term – she was convicted four times under Article 411 of the Criminal Code (disobedience to the demands of the colony administration) while imprisoned, with each conviction adding another year to her sentence. Shortly before her pardon and forced deportation, a sixth criminal case was initiated against the woman – under Article 410 of the Criminal Code (actions that disorganize the work of a correctional institution that executes punishment in the form of deprivation of liberty). This is the first instance of a criminal case being initiated against political prisoners under this article.

During trials and pending appeal reviews, Viktoryia was transferred to Homiel pre-trial detention center No. 3 each time.

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 the Homiel detention center as a sanatorium, because I truly went there to rest. After penal colony No. 24, upon arriving there, I found myself in absolutely normal conditions, which any person entering those places should experience. Yes, there were certain nuances: solitary confinement, but everything was polite, correct, and respectful. Letters were not delivered to me, and parcels and packages from outside individuals were not given. But I was already prepared for this, as I had gone through it multiple times. Medical assistance was provided to me, and food was the same as for everyone else. Books were issued regularly and according to my selection criteria.

Nothing bad happened to me in the detention centers during the entire time. In Homiel, of course, there were restrictions, oppression. We were constantly reminded that we are a specific category of people for whom a certain approach would be taken. 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 specific way. But I perceived this quite adequately. However, 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, she was given to understand that any kind of communication was impossible.

Viktoryia 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, means restrictions, regime, PUR (internal regulations), and compliance with demands. It's understandable that we deny all of this, as we were illegally convicted, and the very fact of any coercion is rejected by the psyche. But in PC-4, no one humiliated me. When I was in SHIZO (punishment cell) and PKT (cell-type premises), staff members would come to me and address me exclusively by my patronymic.

There was a specific command, I understood that, and the staff didn't hide much that there should be certain pressure. But I cannot say that there was any specific attitude towards me — it was about fulfilling certain tasks. They needed to 'spin' me on Article 411, and they did it. The pressure consisted of constantly and unlawfully drawing up these reports against us for no reason, constantly placing us in SHIZO and PKT cells. But this wasn't because they wanted or liked it, but because they are executors and follow orders from above.

I also remember very well when, in 2022, staff brought documents to Palina Sharenda-Panasiuk in PKT regarding the limitation of her parental rights. They told her to sign the document confirming she had familiarized herself with it. To which she replied that she doesn't trade her children, so she wouldn't sign anything."

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

After being transferred from quarantine to the detachment, Viktoryia, like all prisoners, was assigned to work. However, 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 persuade 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, I was brought to the factory, and I again stated that I would not sew uniforms. The workshop manager called me in; at that moment, she was a civilian woman. She told me: 'Aliaksandrauna, 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, you won't do it. I don't want any punitive measures to be taken against you.'"

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

"I only started physically deteriorating about a year or year and a half before the 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 chief signed requests for vitamins without problems."

"PC-24 Is Hell"

Correctional Colony No. 24 is an institution for women who have committed repeat offenses. Currently, only two female 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 can't imagine how Palina and I endured all of that and remained sane. I wasn't in any good units. Only in the last year before my release was I placed in a separate unit, which is considered the best. But I stayed there for a short period of time. There was a head of household who constantly tried to persuade me to cooperate, telling me how sorry she felt for me and how I should sign everything because I was being awaited at home."

"There Was an Instruction for Me to Just Be Alive"

The former political prisoner received no medical assistance in Zarechcha: "If you are sick, the medical help there is 'we would help if we had anything.' 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 have not proven the positive effect of anti-inflammatory drugs or antibiotics on the body. With medical parcels, it's difficult: they signed my 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 parcels of that format, of course, were not signed for me."

Already in Zarechcha, the woman began to experience serious health problems. The lack of medical assistance exacerbated the situation.

"There, my joints went bad, tachycardia appeared, and my teeth started falling out. I realized every day that I was breaking down more and more. And every time you ask for help, they tell you: 'You have a short term. You'll get out — then you'll get treated.' But, considering that my term was endless, and everyone understood that, it sounded like mockery."

Viktoryia is convinced that all factors immediately affected her worsening health: stress, poor nutrition, detention conditions, vitamin deficiency, and the cold in the SHIZO. Initially, problems began with her teeth. This is one of the most common problems among prisoners. According to Viktoryia, while there is a dentist in the Homiel colony, it wasn't even possible to consult one in Zarechcha. Later, gynecological problems were added to this.

"The gynecologist herself said that she had questions about being forbidden to provide me with medical assistance. She herself confirmed that I needed to be taken to the city and shown to specialized specialists. 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 took those drugs without stopping. The gynecologist said she had explained this to the head of the colony, but she herself could not influence his decision in any way.

During my entire imprisonment, I was never taken to a hospital, even though the gynecologist justified the necessity. But she could do nothing, nor could she provide the necessary on-site assistance.

"I don't think the warden made the decision not to take me to the hospital. I think he was completely indifferent to me and my health. The instruction was just for me to be alive. A trip to the city simply meant publicity."

"We Will Take You to the Hospital Only When You Are Unconscious"

Throughout her imprisonment, Viktoryia went on hunger strike several times. But only when she realized that she could no longer endure the pressure.

"For example, I am in a punishment cell. I understand that there are no grounds, but they put me there because it was an order. And into this very foul, very dirty, very stinking, small, unventilated cell, they put antisocial people with mental deviations who don't know and don't want to use hygiene products. The stench there was so strong it stung my eyes. There is a constant rotation of people: some serve 10 days, others come in their place. And you're already going crazy 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 just came and told me: 'Kulsha, you have another 15 days from the colony warden.' 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 force them to 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 go without food for 49 days. For the first three weeks, doctors paid no attention to her, Viktoryia recalls. They didn't measure her blood pressure or inquire about her well-being. Then, when it became clear from Viktoryia's appearance that the hunger strike was already having consequences, doctors began to check her condition; a week later, they took blood for tests, measured her temperature and blood pressure. A few days later, the political prisoner was given IV drips. Viktoryia says the reason for this was kidney problems.

"Previously, I had no problems with them, but here, my kidneys immediately started failing. 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 for me without dialysis.

In the colony, I was given resuscitation assistance twice: once when hypoglycemia started because my blood sugar dropped below one, and another time when my blood pressure dropped to 60/40 in the PKT. I remember little; I felt horrible.

I returned to eating when I understood that medical help was insufficient 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 a hunger strike in the Homiel pre-trial detention center, Viktoryia's condition sharply deteriorated: 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 hunger strike in the Homiel pre-trial detention center, they manipulated the fact that my kidneys were failing. And they were indeed failing for a period of time. The head of the medical unit said: 'Viktoryia Aliaksandrauna, you must understand that we will provide you with medical assistance within our capabilities. Your body is holding up, it's not heavily worn out, but we will take you to the hospital only when you are unconscious, when you are in an unconscious state and unable to speak.' That means they would only take me for dialysis — if my kidneys had simply failed."

"I Was Held in the SHIZO for More Than a Year in Total"

The former political prisoner recalls that women with mental disorders, who could not be held in general units, were always placed in the SHIZO cell with her and Palina Sharenda-Panasiuk. According to the former political prisoner, being held with such women was dangerous and unbearable.

"SHIZO is cold. I was held indefinitely in the isolation unit. Throughout my entire stay in penal colony No. 24, I was held in the SHIZO for more than a year in total. At some point, you simply 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 release for 70 days straight. I was practically never in the general unit."

During Viktoryia's five years of imprisonment, she was only assigned the rank of seamstress three weeks before her release. It can only be obtained after a three-month internship. This means that from 2021 until the beginning of 2025, Viktoryia was not in the general unit for even three months in total – she was constantly sent to the SHIZO or PKT, or transferred to the pre-trial detention center for another trial. Before receiving the seamstress rank, Viktoryia was considered an "apprentice" at the factory. The day after receiving the rank, she was again placed in the SHIZO.

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

The PKT (cell-type premises) in penal colony No. 24 is practically no different from the SHIZO (punishment cell) in terms of conditions, but there, one 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 the 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 the household told me that I would be on duty cleaning the toilet today. I said that I wasn't on the schedule. To which she replied that I was now on the schedule and after the inspection, I had to start cleaning. If I had to, I'd do it. An inspection takes place, and afterward, I notice an operative department employee coming with a video camera. He comes to the unit, 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 legitimate demands of the administration.' And 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 prove anything to him. Because that would lead to further repression. When this whole execution ends and you come out of the toilet, you are ashamed to look people in the eyes because you have been publicly humiliated. But in the unit, people understood everything, and there was no bullying. They came up to me and said that I just needed to endure it and told me not to give in to provocations.

In penal colony No. 24, zombified people work. They don't seem to be afraid of publicity at all. I had the feeling that if an employee there were told to throw me to the floor and finish me off with kicks, he would do it."

"You Start Thinking That You Will Never Get Out"

According to Viktoryia, the hardest part of her imprisonment was the feeling that she might never be released.

"It is absolutely impossible to come to terms with this. You don't get used to it. When it's the first Article 411, then the second, third, fourth, when you constantly hear that you will never be released. You start thinking that yes, probably, it is true, that you will never be released. Therefore, 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 employee approached me and asked how I was doing. I told him he was asking such stupid questions because I had arrived again due to a new criminal case. I said that I was so tired of all this that it would probably be easier if they just gave me 15 years and left me alone. I told him, let's process a confession, 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 down everything he deemed necessary, and I would sign it all. Even treason, I wouldn't even read it, just sign it. And he said that wasn't interesting to him. That means mocking me every year with these transfers, SHIZO, and trials — that's interesting."

"Do You Think Sharenda Even Remembers You?"

Such strong pressure in the colony was exerted not only on Viktoryia but also on Palina Sharenda-Panasiuk. The women were held in neighboring punishment cells. Sometimes, a simple nod of the head was enough for them to support each other. After Palina's release, they tried to turn Viktoryia against the released political prisoner. But their connection was what supported Viktoryia. It was important for her that at least one of them would be free and able to tell about all the horrors of women's penal colony No. 24.

"When Palina and I were imprisoned, we had one desire — for at least one of us to get out and start talking about this horror. And when Palina was released, they began to manipulate the situation. They said: 'Sharenda is out, she went to Poland, do you think she even remembers you? She didn't even send you a single postcard.' I understood that this wasn't true. It was impossible to even imagine her getting out and not starting to speak. That's the hope I lived on: for at least one of us to be released. None of us could even imagine that such a thing could happen in the 21st century, in a legal state. Here he [Lukashenka] says: 'The Year of the Belarusian Woman.' But he is simply at war with us. We are instilling 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 be talked about when so many illegally convicted women are in prisons for simply expressing their opinion.

I am incredibly grateful to Palina. When we met, we couldn't even talk; we just hugged and cried. When she got out, the staff told me: 'You should hate Sharenda for being released while you're still in prison.' I told them that I am happy, but you will never understand that. And Palina would be glad and happy if I were released. It's a great fortune that at least one of us succeeded. And they didn't understand that.

We always believed that we weren't forgotten. The inner feeling and hope that we are remembered helped us survive 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 Being Taken from the Colony and Forced Deportation

Viktoryia's release came unexpectedly, 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 term was supposed to end on January 23, 2026. I understood that it was unlikely, but I really wanted to believe. And on December 5, my world was shattered when I was informed about a new criminal case."

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

After the hospital, Viktoryia was transferred not to PC-24, but to the medical unit of Homiel penal colony No. 4. On the morning of December 13, employees came for her and told her to pack her belongings. Viktoryia 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, where there was a box with my civilian clothes, and told me to change. That's when I realized something was wrong. Because we are transported in prison uniforms for transfers. And when I saw a small bag of money, and an officer told me to sign documents about withdrawing money from my personal account, I understood that something was happening. No one told me I was being released, and I didn't ask any questions. I only asked about my passport, to which they replied that it shouldn't concern me.

They led me out of the colony territory, where a minivan was standing, with officers 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're 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 little relieved when I heard the man who was lying down start talking. He asked to turn over because he felt stiff. He asked to at least ride on his knees. As a result, 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 they were taking us 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. Viktoryia 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 the bus. According to the woman, she did not even consider that she could be taken to Ukraine.

"I had no idea where they were taking us. Those who had hats over their eyes could at least see the sunset. But I had a bag over my head, so I had no clue where we were being taken. The bag was removed from me only in the Ukrainian bus, and the tape on my hands was cut. Only then did we see that it was Ukraine. I probably would have been less surprised if it had been Brazil or Venezuela in front of me. Because Ukraine, military actions, closed borders... How is that even possible? But it was undoubtedly joy."

When we were transferred to the Ukrainian bus, a KGB officer walked around, filming with 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 simply wouldn't understand.'"

"It seems to me that everyone on the bus had doubts until the very last moment 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 Road to Nowhere; It Unties Their Hands"

Viktoryia 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 in any way affect the administration's attitude towards them. When people are released and start telling these horrors, how can they harm me? I was treated according to some specific individual scenario. Ivanov was released and told how bad it was for him. So what?

All these atrocities must definitely be publicized. Because it won't get better, and worse is unlikely. If pressure starts, it's certainly not because someone said something. And if we keep silent, they can do whatever they want with us there, and no one will know about it. Under Article 411, people can be "spun" (subjected to repeated charges) and no one will even know about it. People will get sick, and no one will find out. Look what happened with Statkevich; no one even knew.

I believe that silence is such nonsense. I think all of this should be loudly proclaimed. For statistics, to track how many people are there. This causes a great public resonance, including international. We need to shout about this on all platforms. Silence is a road 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 voice 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. It seems to me that this should stop them."

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