"A woman who sent me thoughtful parcels arrived at the penal colony." Interview with Tut.by Editor-in-Chief Maryna Zolatava

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

"Starting from 2020, the pressure was felt more"

— How are you?

— Good. Now, besides being free, the weather is also very pleasing. And, naturally, I can't help but immediately remember prison, because these first sunny spring days always give hope. Because as soon as autumn came — for us it was the "padded jacket season," it lasts seven months in the penal colony, from October to April inclusive — as soon as you put on the padded jacket, you, as if with those kilograms, put on cold, grayness, despair, longing, and all the rest of it. Therefore, when spring comes, people in the penal colony are very happy.

— Let's talk about tut.by. I worked at the company for quite a long time and repeatedly saw you have rather tense conversations with Belarusian officials on very different occasions. Can it be said that tut.by and you personally felt pressure from the authorities for years?

— It wasn't permanent, but in some years there was an exacerbation, in some years a thaw, in some moments even a kind of partnership, or something. Starting from 2020, the pressure was felt more. But at some point, a different regime kicked in – one of ignoring, when they simply stopped reacting to us, making any remarks or anything else, apparently just decided not to deal with us.

— During the years you led tut.by, did the authorities try to gain control over the media in any way?

— Globally, no. They engaged in some specific moments and on some specific topics that, apparently, were more sensitive for the authorities, and at such moments there could be some calls or we might receive some messages. It's quite difficult to remember now, as a lot of time has passed, but these were definitely topics related to the economic situation of Belarus. The Ukrainian issue, relations with some key foreign partners. But in general, to say that the authorities were globally trying to control tut.by, — that was certainly not the case.

— How did you and the company react to this?

— We tried to engage in dialogue. One must understand here that many issues were not only resolved by me; to a greater extent, Yury Anatolievich Zisser was involved in this, as tut.by was primarily associated with his name. And if something happened, officials believed that all issues should be resolved with Zisser. It even got comical: people thought he controlled, for example, the situation on the forums. He took on a very large portion of the questions, so, I think, much of it didn't even reach me.

But in general, we aimed to resolve issues through dialogue. There were cases when we made concessions, there were cases when we calmly agreed on compromises. Somehow calmly, especially before 2020, such issues were resolved. That is, it seems to me that the authorities understood that tut.by… Well, it's incorrect, of course, to use words like "be friends," but to maintain some civilized relations, considering the portal's audience, was important and right.

— At what moment did you realize that the 2020 election campaign would be very different from anything we had seen before?

— Perhaps then, when both Viktar Babaryka and Siarhei Tsikhanouski announced their ambitions. Plus, immediately after that, a very broad audience instantly engaged in the election campaign itself. That is, both the attention given to participating in the work of the headquarters, and independent observers, and initiative groups. While I worked at tut.by, I observed several election campaigns: 2006, 2010, 2015, and 2020. And in terms of intensity of passion, and overall in its richness, the 2020 campaign was an absolutely unique phenomenon. For us, journalists, it was very interesting, because such a thing had never happened in the history of Belarus, that the topic of presidential elections was so interesting to people. That is, over all this time, people had apparently gotten used to nothing depending on them in elections, but in 2020, they decided differently, decided that their opinion really mattered, and therefore actively engaged in the process... This had simply never happened before.

— Did authorities contact you or anyone else from the company's management with a demand to do your work worse and pay less attention to these elections?

— No. But, of course, we had all sorts of meetings. I remember that in the summer I went to a meeting with the Minister of Information; Ihar Lutski held that position then. The conversations were in the format of "[Work] carefully, objectively." That is, no specific demands were voiced.

"Most likely, there were no other options for tut.by's development"

— Let's fast forward to August 9. No connection. On the streets by evening, tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people across the country. And the security forces don't just beat people with batons; they throw stun grenades at them, spray them with water cannons, shoot, and, as we later learned, even kill. Could you have imagined that it would be like this?

— That it would be so harsh — perhaps not. 2010 and 2011 were quite harsh in terms of precisely post-election events — trials, sentences — but they affected a much smaller number of people. The sentences were completely different. Then Statkevich received five and a half years (in fact, six years; five and a half years received another presidential candidate, Dzmitry Us. — Editor's note.), and now there are plenty of women who have served that much time.

It couldn't even occur to me that the consequences would be so serious. Absolutely. This is an experience we all lived through together for the first time in the history of independent Belarus.

— What shocked you most in the first week after those elections?

— Perhaps the first death on Pushkinskaya. Perhaps the story with the paddy wagon that ran over a person. And then there were people who came out of Akrestsin. Photos of people in the hospital…

— Yes, I remember those terrible texts and photos. Were you surprised that tut.by was not closed immediately after the elections?

— Actually, I wasn't reflecting on that at the time. Because there simply wasn't time for it; we had to continue working somehow. That is, you were more strongly preoccupied with more operational problems than reflecting on why we weren't closed immediately. But I think that, in principle, for the authorities, for the security forces, just like for us, it was all for the first time, so they also gradually resolved these issues.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

— Many don't like this genre, but still, I will ask you the question. Looking back, retrospectively, should tut.by have done something differently in 2020-2021?

— I don't have an answer to that question, because it's all in the realm of fantasy. Based on what is happening now, already five and a half years after all these events, with the repressive machine operating and showing no signs of stopping, it seems obvious to me that, frankly, there were no other options. That it was crucial for the authorities to stay in power. This is the key question. Most likely, there were no other options for tut.by's development.

— And is there anything you personally, perhaps, would have wanted to do differently?

— I remember saying to colleagues repeatedly: if they feel danger, if they don't want to, if they are afraid, there is always a choice. I reminded them that we work in a difficult time in a difficult country, and we have a difficult, quite dangerous profession. If you are not ready and if you feel fear, you can always leave, you can always go abroad, you can take a long vacation; plus, we offered people to leave the country. Perhaps I should have been more insistent in promoting these offers to somehow ensure people's safety.

On the other hand, as practice showed, all these unpleasant events [in the company] affected far more than just the editorial staff. Perhaps that was the intention, for people who had nothing to do with the editorial office to suffer.

At the time of the crackdown, tut.by employed over 350 people: journalists, editors, proofreaders, programmers, marketers, sales managers, lawyers, and many others. The lion's share of the company's employees had no involvement in shaping the publication's information policy.

— In March 2021, you were summoned to GUBazik, where you were "familiarized with a warning about the inadmissibility of violating extremism legislation." But tut.by only reported this at the end of April. Why?

— Now it's hard for me to reconstruct the chronology of events. I remember that when it happened, I told Liudmila (Chekina, tut.by's general director. — Editor's note.) about it, and I don't remember why, but at that moment, we decided not to tell others so as not to worry them. Because ultimately, the responsibility lies with us as leaders. So we decided there was no need to stir up people within the editorial office.

— Why did you decide to make it public after all?

— It seems to me that one of the state publications simply wrote about it, and then it had to be told.

— What happened at GUBazik then?

— It was a standard procedure of familiarization with a warning. That is, before being brought to any more serious responsibility, you must be formally warned about the inadmissibility of violating legislation in that area.

— Were you not given any demands? For example, tut.by stops doing this and that, then…

— No. At that moment, the conversation was about something else. Then GUBazik collected tut.by's materials and sent them to the commission on combating extremism. And they called me to familiarize me with this, plus with the warning. The conversation then was about "tut.by allowed many such materials in the first days after the elections, but now you practically have no such materials. Most of our claims concern materials from August and September 2020. And we sent these materials to the relevant authorities." These materials also formed the basis for bringing us to justice under Article 130 (Incitement to social hatred. — Editor's note.) and Article 361 (Calls for actions aimed at harming national security. — Editor's note.).

— Did you perceive this visit as a final warning?

— Yes, it certainly felt like that.

— Why didn't tut.by compromise with the authorities, with itself? Why didn't it "normalize" to avoid the crackdown?

— I don't quite understand what "normalization" means in this context. That is, we reported on what was happening, we didn't escalate. That is, when there were protests, we wrote about protests. When there was violence, we wrote about violence. We even spoke with law enforcement officers who suffered from violence. I even remember attaching that text to the case materials. So, to the extent possible, we tried to cover all sides involved in the events. Therefore, you see, when you've been accustomed for many years to doing your job according to professional, human standards... then you just don't understand how it could be otherwise. That is, you write about an event because it's happening. You can't *not* write about it, because it's an important event, right? So I simply didn't understand what could be different.

"I get 12 years for TUT.BY covering the events that took place, while you allow aggressive calls against dissidents, and for this, the state thanks you"

— After your detention, did you anticipate being free only after four and a half years?

— Already at that moment, four and a half seemed realistic. We had an interesting conversation about this topic just a few days before the arrest. We met with colleagues, and there were discussions about "to leave or not to leave," "what will happen if they come and arrest us," and so on. I remember my words: "Well, they'll arrest me, they'll imprison me. Well, then, I'll sit it out." And then I determined that, apparently, the [term] would be somewhere around four [years]. By the time of the trial, I already understood it would be at least eight, but twelve was a bit unexpected, to be honest. It turned out that Liudmila and I got more than Fyaduta, Kastusiou, Ziankovich, more than Masha Kalesnikava. And we were like, "Wow! Well, I'll be!"

— When you were still in the pre-trial detention center, were you offered any deal?

— No. There was one conversation about "haha, you understand that everything can be blamed on Liudmila." That seemed absolutely wild to me.

In this situation, what still worries and saddens me the most is that people who were in no way involved in the editorial work suffered. The chief engineer, women from accounting, and others had to spend 10 months in the pre-trial detention center. This seems unfair to me. But what seems most unfair is that Liudmila remains in the penal colony to this day. Although, as the general director of tut.by, she never interfered with the editorial work at all and has effectively remained a hostage. This really gnaws at me and… it's simply impossible to live or come to terms with it.

— You were given a draconian sentence – 12 years. And yet there was no information that you were thrown into a punishment cell, or strict regime cell, or given especially hard labor in the penal colony. What were your conditions behind bars?

— I often catch myself thinking that when I'm asked about the penal colony and the pre-trial detention center, I use the phrase "I was lucky" or "I was very lucky." But I really was lucky in the sense that [at first] I was always at Valadarka, meaning I didn't have to experience the "charms" of Zhodzina or any other pre-trial detention centers. At Akrestsin, we all only spent three days, and there weren't all those terrible stories about overcrowding and unbearable conditions either. That is, it's clear that one must consider that it is still a pre-trial detention center, not a sanatorium.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

In the penal colony, I did not have the status of a "malicious offender." I had, it seems, three violations during my entire time. Three times I was deprived of a long visit. Or twice a long one, once a short one… It really depends on both the head of the unit and the operational curator of the unit. In my case, there were, let's say, quite calm people. It's still hard for me to explain why I didn't have any incidents like being sent to the punishment cell (ШІЗА) or strict regime cell (ПКТ).

Another point is that I arrived at the penal colony in August 2023, and it was far from the first wave of political prisoners. Initially, the conditions for them, it seems to me, were harsher. At least, according to the feedback from girls who ended up there in 2022. It was harder for them to serve their time. There were provocations from other prisoners, and a harsher attitude from the administration, and Article 411 (Malicious disobedience to the administration's demands. It is used to add terms to convicted persons. — Editor's note.) was invoked much more often. And it's important how a person behaves. I tried to activate a self-preservation mode, not to fall for provocations, especially not to stick out. Therefore, in principle, all of this went relatively calmly for me.

— What kind of provocations were there?

— For example, if some injustice happens to you or your acquaintances, the normal human reaction is to stand up and protest. But in the penal colony, you understand that if you behave like that, then you'll end up in the punishment cell (ШІЗА) and create problems not only for yourself but also for others, maybe even the whole unit.

— In the evenings in the penal colony, you watched TV. Do you have a favorite Belarusian propagandist?

— No. I watched TV when I managed to catch the news, because to be honest, it's not easy to compete with Russian TV series. As for propagandists, you try to read between the lines.

— Okay, but seriously. How do you assess the changes in Belarusian propaganda over the last five and a half years?

— I always wanted to share this, [but] I think the girls in the cell didn't want to listen to me. When I read what was imputed to us, all those formulations accusing us, and then watched TV, where much harsher expressions were used and calls to "drown them," I don't know…

— I think whatever word you say now — it could have been.

— Perhaps, yes. Quite aggressive calls to get rid of dissidents, "they shouldn't be in our country," and so on, and so on. All this was on TV, and these people who broadcast it later received some awards. It simply didn't compute in my head: how? I get 12 years for tut.by covering the events that took place, while you allow aggressive calls against dissidents, and for this, the state thanks you — it just seemed like some peak of madness.

— Tut.by wrote a lot about trials, penal colonies. We had a project "When They Came For You" after the "BelTA case." And when you yourself ended up behind bars, was there anything that our texts didn't prepare you for?

— It's always very difficult to come to terms with injustice. You just accept that everything happening to you now is unfair. But you must make maximum efforts to endure this ordeal. So, in fact, the most difficult moment was precisely accepting this position. The readiness to endure injustice. To everything else, in principle, I was ready.

— Did you encounter prison medicine during your incarceration?

— A few times. My body somehow behaved very wisely in this regard, it was in good shape. A funny situation: in all four and a half years, I only once went to the dentist; they put in a filling. It's still fine, by the way, still in place. But when I got out of prison, about ten days later, a piece of my tooth broke off. That is, my body had already relaxed so much, understood that it could breathe out and… Well, it somehow allowed itself to let its guard down.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

"In the penal colony, one of the most simultaneously sad and touching moments was when I found out that a woman who had sent me very nice parcels arrived in one of the units"

— From time to time, you were allowed to call your relatives. How did you feel when you hung up?

— Calls were allowed when they were granted to all prisoners: three times a month plus one video call. "Malicious offenders" — one call, one video call. The biggest disappointment I felt was when I couldn't get through. But, fortunately, that happened quite rarely. When I hung up, of course, I felt disappointment that it was all over, that we had talked. Although sometimes it seems like there's nothing even to talk about, because I regularly received letters from relatives. And some things you wouldn't discuss over the phone — especially since all conversations are always monitored, and the unit head is present during phone calls. It's just important to you — the very fact is important to you — to hear the voice of a loved one.

— In the penal colony, you were constantly among people. Maybe the question sounds strange, but did you feel lonely there?

— No. I like solitude. Standing in formation or sitting in the dining hall, you can also feel lonely and be alone. If we're talking about some physical aspects, yes, then, of course, this crowding — it interfered very much. It got on my nerves.

In the pre-trial detention center, I spent over a year in one cell. Its area, we calculated, was 14.5 square meters, including the toilet. And there were eight people in the cell. And often they would put in a ninth, and sometimes even a tenth. There was nowhere at all to put them. That is, they would lay their mattresses down for the night on a small patch in front of the door and the bunks. And there was absolutely nowhere to step. And from this crowding, of course, you suffer very much.

But in fact, physical exercises — they help excellently in getting rid of negative energy. While I was in the pre-trial detention center, I ran in place every day in our small exercise yards. That is, I started with five minutes in the exercise yard, and ended with seventy minutes. And at that moment, I shed all the negativity that accumulated in me during the day in the cell. Later, when we got to the penal colony, for some time, perhaps half a year, we were allowed to go to the gym, which helped immensely. That is, you are permeated with all this negativity: shouting, work, some, I don't know, mandatory unpleasant events… All of this is in you. And while we went to the gym, we, of course, could wonderfully relax and somehow distract ourselves from all these negative things. When they deprived us of the gym, I simply walked circles every morning around the local area (the space in the penal colony where prisoners can move freely during their free time. — Editor's note.). I walked fast; that also helped immensely. At that moment, I simply exhaled all the negativity that had accumulated in the penal colony.

— You've seen more than one wave of people being released. How does a person feel watching others being released, but not them?

— I was absolutely genuinely happy for everyone. That is, I didn't have the feeling of "why not me?" The first time it happened was in July 2024. And then throughout 2024, several women were regularly released right up until New Year's Eve. I remember that on December 30th, two women from our unit were released. Oh my God, it's such joy! It's a feeling as if a part of you is also being released. You genuinely rejoice for others, especially when you know that these people have suffered enough and now they will return to their families, embrace their loved ones. There was a story _(cries)_… There was a story when a woman with four children was released.

And you think there's hope that this will continue. It's probably also some kind of, I don't know, reaction... some protective one, because rationally you understand that far more people enter the penal colony for "political" reasons than are released. When I entered my unit, we had, it seems, nine or ten political prisoners, but by the time we were taken out of the colony, there were twelve.

— A little over a month ago, you wrote a rather alarming post about Natallia Levaya, who managed to get pregnant while in the penal colony. And she was released. Is there anyone who remains behind bars for whom you are particularly worried right now?

— It's very, very, very many women. Truly. There are such stories that you can't choose just one. There are women who have been behind bars for four or five years and still have a very long time to serve. There's Irachka Zlobina — she's been imprisoned since January 2021. Marfa Rabkova has been imprisoned since September 2020. Katsia Andreeva has been imprisoned since November 2020. Our Liudmila has been imprisoned since May 2021. Absolutely incredible cases where pensioners receive huge sentences. For example, Iryna Melkher. She is now 70 years old. She's already spent five years behind bars, and her total sentence is 17 years. Her "accomplice" Halina Dzerbysh was released, but Iryna Melkher remains behind bars. She has significant health problems. For some reason, at the end of last year, she was sent to the punishment cell (ШІЗА) for five days. The punishment cell (ШІЗА) is harsh. Even a healthy and younger person finds it difficult to endure a punishment cell, so what should a woman in her seventies with such health problems do? A bit younger than Melkher is Liubou Razanovich, who has also been behind bars for five years, and her sentence is 15 years.

Most of all, I am probably surprised and worried by this category of women who ended up in the penal colony for sending parcels or money, 5-10 rubles, to people in the pre-trial detention center. I calculated that there are now more than 20 such people in the penal colony. Out of 130 currently imprisoned for "political" reasons. And among these women, there are also pensioners. For example, there's Alena Viarbitskaya, who is 70 years old, or Natallia Zhyhar — also 70. There are younger pensioners there, and they received three to four years of real sentences for sending marshmallows and cookies to people in the pre-trial detention center.

And the question arises: why? What exactly is the crime? That is, people are in the pre-trial detention center. They are not forbidden from sending parcels. They are not forbidden from receiving money transfers. No verdict has come into force against them. Women are being brought to justice, and they receive real sentences. And why don't you, for example, prosecute the administration of the pre-trial detention center that let parcels through? Or "Belposhta" (Belarusian Post)? Why are the women guilty? This seems the most unfair to me. Moreover, many of those whom these women helped have long been free. Many didn't even reach the penal colony because [they] were sentenced, for example, under Article 342 (Organization and preparation of actions that grossly violate public order, or active participation in them. — Editor's note.). People often received just "home chemistry" (house arrest with correctional labor) under it. And they went home from the pre-trial detention center, while women received three or four years in a penal colony _(cries)_…

I never cried at all in the penal colony or the pre-trial detention center, except for some touching cases. In the penal colony, one of the most simultaneously sad and touching moments was when I found out that a woman who had sent me very nice parcels, postcards… There was a time in 2022, in 2021, when I received parcels and postcards from a large number of strangers. It was wonderful, always cheering me up. And you pick out someone especially because you feel like you're on the same wavelength with them, you're interested in the same things. And when I found out that one of these women ended up in the penal colony… I cried then. Fortunately, she was taken out with me on the bus on December 13.

Right now, at Antoshkina (referring to the penal colony), out of 130 "extremist" women, more than 20 are pensioners. As I said, about 20 are imprisoned for parcels, about 30 for the "yard chats case." About seven people for the "Hayun case." Very many for the "ChKB case"; some of the women have almost completely served their five-year terms. They are in very bad shape. And they need to be saved. There is nothing more important than human life, health, and freedom.

— I'm listening to you and I understand that you are very much hurting for the women who remained there. The fact that you became close with many of them during this time — both in the pre-trial detention center and in the penal colony. What does the support of people who are on the same wavelength as you, as you said, mean in captivity?

— It's a difficult question. I probably have a slightly different story. As I said, I like solitude. For me, it probably wasn't so important for someone to hug me, comfort me, or anything like that. But something else is important — the feeling of some unity, the understanding that it's not you who is abnormal. And what was done to you — that's abnormal. And when you see this support, when you see many people around who think exactly the same way, you simply become convinced of this thought. You come to the conclusion that no, I'm not some kind of "not right." When you see all these women who are imprisoned "for parcels" — they really look like saints. Their facial expressions, their smiles, I don't know, some light. You just constantly want to hug these people, tell them something good, constantly thank them. It's wonderful that they exist.

— Did you manage to communicate with Liudmila Chekina?

— In the pre-trial detention center — by chance. For example, on the way to a walk. Sometimes we crossed paths in the penal colony — sometime from the summer of 2025, Liudmila was transferred to another unit, and we started working with her on the same shift. And then we practically talked to her every day before going to the factory. And that was wonderful. And another great thing was that convicted individuals registered for preventive supervision as "prone to extremist and other destructive activities" were regularly sent to the club on Sundays to discuss films. And from the fourteenth unit, where Liudmila had been for quite a long time, she typically moderated the discussion. It was always very interesting. I was struck by her erudition, her passion for poetry. I didn't know she loved Tsvetaeva, Brodsky so much… She quoted many, many poems. Mila was always a great authority for me, but now I love her even more.

— How is she?

— I don't know what can be said about the last months, since we were released. But she always remained very cheerful. She always found encouraging words, little jokes, like a fairy from her sleeve, she always pulled out some funny stories. Emotionally, she is very strong and inspiring.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

"This is what's simply eating me up"

— How was the day of your release?

— We understood that something like that was bound to happen. On December 12, I worked the first shift, and, as always, before going to the factory, the girls and I talked. You must understand that all conversations in the penal colony, no matter how they begin, boil down to one thing — the question of when we will all go home. Then suddenly, before lunch, the girls noticed that Masha Kalesnikava had disappeared from the radar; she wasn't seen at the factory, she had been taken somewhere. Rumors that she had been released immediately started spreading. But that happened regularly: if she suddenly disappeared from the factory, a new wave of rumors would immediately appear that she had been released. Then Masha was taken to dinner, and it immediately became clear that she hadn't been released after all.

When I returned from work to the unit, I immediately ran to the TV. There, at three o'clock, was the news broadcast. I only saw a scrolling line stating that Belarusian-American negotiations were taking place at the Palace of Independence, and this gave me some hope. But I was, of course, far from thinking that I might be released that day. After dinner, I was called to the staff office. I even rejoiced because I connected these two events. I arrived. The deputy head called me in and had a rather routine conversation with me. Over the entire time, there had been three or four such conversations. And this time, there was nothing special in the conversation: "How's the unit?", what would I do if I were suddenly released, "how do you like the club events?". And I went back to the unit. That's when, actually, lights out came.

And then at two in the morning — I woke up to a flashlight shining in my face. It was one of the operatives: "Get dressed in civilian clothes, gather all your belongings." And then everything became clear. That is, no additional explanations or questions arose for me. It was clear what needed to be done.

I went out into the corridor and saw that two other women from our unit were also getting ready in the same way. And then, with our belongings, we came to the quarantine room. There were already quite a few people there. We left our things in the corridor; there was a search, a personal inspection, the so-called "naked shakedown." Then they gave us the money we had in our personal accounts. I had 42 rubles; that was my salary for the last month and a little extra.

All this lasted until about ten in the morning, and then they started putting us on a bus in small groups. They put handcuffs on our hands and told us to pull our hats over our eyes. There were many masked people. When we were all seated on the bus, one of them came in and said, "Behave yourselves, don't worry, everything will be fine with you." We understood that they were most likely taking us to some border and would hand us over to someone there. Then, in handcuffs and with hats over our eyes, we drove off somewhere. We didn't drive for long at all. They said it was a technical stop, if you wanted to go to the toilet — go. And I'll remind you that we were all in handcuffs and with hats over our eyes. This procedure of going to the toilet — it took about an hour.

Eventually, the bus left, but we didn't drive [again] for long. We could already take off our hats, and we realized we were somewhere on a country road between a forest and a field. We were transferred to another bus; another large one stood nearby, and quite a few various minibuses and small buses arrived, from which men began to disembark. This was quite a difficult sight, as their hands were handcuffed behind their backs, and they all had hats pulled over their eyes, or bags over their heads. And completely disoriented, they didn't understand at all where or how to move. Plus, very many were in prison padded jackets and uniforms. And there were very, very many masked security forces. It was absolutely unclear why the release had to be done this way. So that we would remember our homeland better? The men were also loaded into these large buses. We were told to pull our hats over our eyes again, but we peeked a little and, in short, quite quickly realized that we were somewhere in the Novaya Huta area.

— Was it a shock?

— Yes. We realized that our meeting with relatives would be delayed a bit. Then we crossed the border; we were transferred to Ukrainian buses. By the way, when we were transferred from one bus to another, they removed our handcuffs but tied our hands with tape. There, we saw [the head of Ukraine's HUR Kyrylo] Budanov, people from the headquarters for the exchange of prisoners of war. They introduced themselves, told us what had happened to us, and what would happen next. There, we saw Masha Kalesnikava, who had been brought to the border separately. We were very surprised and delighted that Viktar Dzmitryevich Babaryka, Maksim Znak, and Pavel Seviarynets were also there.

— How did you find out that a full-scale war had started?

— It was a Thursday; my lawyer came to me that very day, but she didn't know what had happened yet. It was morning, and there you had to hand in phones, stand in line, all that. And then I returned to the cell. And then the girls were watching TV, and this campaign was being covered at full blast. It was as if you had just fallen into another reality.

Absolutely insane feelings from the news about the start of the war. They seemed unreal. Because, well, how? That is, Russia attacked Ukraine. And you don't understand how that can even be.

In the pre-trial detention center, we had a very cool library, and it seems, precisely during this period, I was reading [books by the Israeli historian and futurologist Yuval Noah] Harari. He wrote such wise thoughts that in the 21st century humanity would understand or had already understood that fighting is unprofitable; it's much more advantageous to cooperate. And he even gives such an example: what will happen if the Chinese want to conquer California? If they conquer the land itself, they will get nothing. Because the main thing in California is Silicon Valley; it's brains. Well, and brains, naturally, will flee in the event of such aggression. Which is what we are observing now.

— Did you believe that such a thing could happen?

— No, absolutely not. It seemed so absurd to me. How can you just take and attack a neighboring country, right here next door? How? And this feeling of unreality of what was happening, when you observe events in the country and the world only through a TV screen and realize that it's some other life — it didn't leave you until you found yourself free.

When we already entered the territory of Ukraine and saw flooded roads there, some anti-tank barriers, we saw destroyed houses, we heard people, we ourselves descended into a bomb shelter several times… And only then do you finally realize that this is war. Before that, it was somehow not very realistic, or something, how it was perceived.

— You said that in December you didn't really believe you would be released. And I honestly believe that for the current authorities, journalists are the most important and dangerous enemies. Why were you released?

— I think it was some condition on the part of the Americans. Since Liudmila remained in the penal colony, perhaps they decided that I wouldn't be a serious threat in terms of journalism.

— Do you feel guilty that you are here and she is there?

— Yes, it's just eating me up. I already said that Liudmila was in no way involved in the editorial work. And it's clear that she and I received these sentences precisely because of what tut.by wrote and covered. But as editor-in-chief — it's clear why I bear responsibility for this. But why Liudmila, who has nothing to do with this, remains a hostage — that seems very unfair, very hurtful to me. Very sad.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

— Did you write a petition for pardon?

— No.

— Were you offered one?

— No.

— And did anyone like Protasevich or Vaskrasenski not come?

— No, no, no! I had very few contacts with any representatives of the penal colony administration or the authorities in general. Over the entire time, there were a few conversations with one of the heads of the penal colony; once, the deputy head of the Department of Penitentiary Enforcement for the Homel region came for a purely general conversation: to get acquainted, to assess what I'm like, perhaps. And once, in August 2025, Artur Haiko, a rather well-known representative of GUBazik, came. Moreover, when I spoke with him, I didn't know who he was. That is, I knew where he was from, but I didn't know his surname. Although, of course, I asked him to introduce himself, but he only gave his first name.

— What did you talk about?

— Those were also conversations of a fairly general nature. He even told me some alternative news, or something. Those that cannot be watched on TV.

— Many political prisoners say that during their release, something was taken from them: letters, manuscripts. Was anything taken from you?

— Yes, yes, yes! During that search before release, my things were mixed with others', and I didn't have a single piece of writing left. That is, no letters, no notebooks, no notes, no documents like the verdict. The most hurtful thing is that among all those papers, my notes from the courtroom disappeared. Because I, naturally, took notes during all our sessions, there were about forty of them. And it's a great pity if I can no longer access these materials, because, of course, they are very engaging texts (the trial of Maryna Zolatava and Liudmila Chekina took place in a closed session. — Editor's note.). So no, nothing was left: no notes, no letters, no drawings — no-thing. Not even empty notebooks.

"Very grateful to my husband for taking responsibility and becoming both mom and dad, and for going through all these difficult years with the children"

— Over the years, we've seen quite a few stories where a person came out of the penal colony and found it quite difficult to return to the world, to return to loved ones. Did you have any problems with that?

— They probably exist. You see the difference between what was and what is. You can't go home. You don't know where your home is now. I've lived my whole life in Minsk. It's my favorite city, and honestly, if I ever wanted to leave Belarus, I would have done it long ago. But I really love Minsk. I know it very well; I can walk through it endlessly. Many won't understand me, but I think Malinovka is an excellent district. But where is my home now?

You have to start life over in another country. This is also not an easy trial. Fortunately, I am here with my family. But very many people ended up here without any connections. That is, the girls and guys here have no relatives or friends, and they somehow have to start everything from scratch.

— You weren't with your family for four and a half years. And you missed so, so much. Are your children not resentful of you for this?

— I didn't ask them the question: "Children, are you resentful of me?" At least, I didn't feel it. On the contrary, I feel more tenderness; it's very sweet. I feel my husband's support and warmth. I didn't tell him: "I'm sorry it turned out this way and we were separated all this time." Frankly, I don't feel that I am specifically to blame for this.

I regularly received letters from relatives. And a big thank you to my husband and children for writing so regularly. Judging by my own experience and that of other women, not everyone can write so often, and not all letters always reach their destination. I am very grateful to my husband for taking responsibility and becoming both mom and dad, and for going through all these difficult years with the children. In addition to having to move to another country, they lived through finishing school, entering university, entering another educational institution, learning a language… And thanks to my husband's sensible actions, I felt that he had everything under control, and I was calm about the children.

In this regard, I felt much calmer than some other women who were constantly anxious, worried about their children. Because I saw many stories where prisoners did not feel support, for example, from their husbands, or if they had no husband, and the children were either left with grandparents, or they were taken to orphanages altogether.

— Will you be able to forgive the people who sent you behind bars, for missing all this, for not being with those you love?

— I don't feel hatred. Why should I feel it? I don't have it; it's hard to explain. But that's what, by the way, surprised me: Kalesnikava was accused of being "for peace and love" and all that. If I have no desire for revenge, no desire to punish, if it's physically absent — what's wrong with me?

— I'm not talking about punishing. I'm talking about forgiving.

— Well, I don't have to forgive or not forgive. It's their life. They commit such acts. What do I have to do with it? I live my own life. My relationships with my relatives, with my children, with my husband, with my mother are important to me. Why should I think about some people who mean nothing to me? I don't know, such a thought never even occurred to me.

"I dream that Liudmila will be released sooner, and that the conveyor belt of repression will finally stop"

— In terms of information, are you trying to catch up on everything you missed?

— Not really. Maybe I'm interested in understanding what happened and how, but there's no way to see everything comprehensively all at once. That is, you pick up individual fragments of information, but, let's say, a holistic understanding of what was happening and what is happening has apparently not yet emerged.

— Since 2021, Belarusian independent journalism has changed very significantly. We all work in exile, in completely different conditions, blocked. Do you already have a formed opinion on what the industry represents now?

— A very difficult question. It's not so much that I have an opinion; rather, I have an insane number of questions: how can one even exist and do anything under such conditions? And work in such a way as to remain an authority for the Belarusian audience? So that readers, who understand all the risks, still go to "Zerkalo" or some other resource to find out the news? Honestly, I don't understand how you managed to do that. For me, it's both a question and a tribute of respect, admiration that something like that can be done. Simply wonderful.

But the conditions themselves — pfff! How? How could the industry be brought to such a state? Why? It's simply incomprehensible to me. Today I learned about the sentence — 14 years for Intex-press, for the guys and girls from Baranavichy. I learned about the judicial process against Pavel Dabravolski. This, of course, is terribly demotivating, and I don't really understand how one can live with this, how one can work under such conditions.

— Looking at all this, would you want to return to journalism?

— To *this* kind? No _(laughs)_. To return… In general, "to return" is not a very suitable word. It turns out you can't return. Because there are no conditions to which you can return. It won't be like it was anymore. It's very difficult for me to orient myself right now and difficult to judge certain phenomena. For now, it's just shock, surprise.

— It seems to me that people in detention have a dream, roughly the same for everyone — to get out of there. Do you already have a new dream?

— If we talk about dreams that have a chance to become reality, then I dream that Liudmila will be released sooner, that the conveyor belt of repression will finally stop. It seems to me that achieving a situation where women stop entering penal colonies under "political" articles — that's possible. For all so-called male and female extremists to be released and return to their families.

In general, few women should be in prison. This applies not only to "political" articles but to criminal legislation as a whole. There is no need to keep such a huge number of women behind bars.

Already after the conversation with Maryna Zolatava, approximately an hour before the publication of this interview, it became known that on March 5, Lukashenka released 18 people, including 15 convicted of "extremism." 11 of them are women.

— My dream from the first day I left was to return home. Do you think we will succeed in the next five years?

— Uh! I believe that someday I will return to Belarus, definitely. But about five years — no, I can't say for sure. During this time, I clearly understood one thing: that intuition should be trusted. And if your intuition tells you that you shouldn't communicate with this person, then do what it tells you. That's the first thing. And the second — I understood that any predictions and plans are an absolutely useless thing. Because these "black swans" — they appear in large numbers absolutely unexpectedly, and there's no point in planning and setting any timeframes for your plans.

Павялічыць

Maryna Zolatava. Photo: "Zerkalo"

— What does your intuition tell you in this case?

— It doesn't set any timeframes for me, but generally it says that I will still be able to return to my homeland. But when — it's unclear. By the way, I watched with interest the saga of Valadarka's demolition. But precisely the part of the building where I was held in three cells — it remained. So perhaps I'll even be able to give tours. The women's block — it consisted of several buildings constructed at different times. And the part where the cells were located, where I sat, where Liudmila also sat, by the way — this building is probably also considered an architectural value, so it wasn't demolished. And there will be _(laughs)_ a restaurant with 80 seats. Seats. An interesting story.

— Sometime in the autumn of 2020, tut.by had a big meeting, not just editorial, but the entire company. The leaders then told us about the situation we all found ourselves in. Our general director Liudmila Chekina spoke the most then, and she voiced a thought that stuck with me quite strongly. She said that the authorities and society cannot remain in such tension for long; the situation must resolve itself in some foreseeable future. And so, what do you think, why did it all end the way it did for all of us?

— But it's not over! Well _(sighs)_… What we experienced in 2020 is a very valuable experience. We looked at each other, saw our neighbors, saw some incredible unity of society. You can't say it just disappeared. It couldn't have gone anywhere.

We saw that Belarusians can do a lot. And this doesn't exclusively concern the election campaign, no. It was just one manifestation of what was happening. Because it started quite a long time ago. What kind of

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