Yulia Semchanka: I had to bite the bullet — I had to stay close to my son

"My son could get sad, sit on the bed, and say: 'My daddy is not here'."

— "For the past few years, I felt like I was living two completely different lives: one – very painful, the other – bright and joyful, thanks to which I managed to survive the first," Yulia recalls. — "In 2022, my husband and I were detained. I was later released, but he was sentenced to three years."

The first six months were very painful: it was difficult to accept the fact that I had to learn to be alone, that my husband wasn't with me and he was going through a difficult time, and that there was nothing I could do to change it.

— "At the time Dima was detained, we had been living together for about ten years. It felt like my arm was torn off – live, with blood, and I had to learn to live without it," the "Salidarnasts" interlocutor continues. — "Somewhere after half a year of such existence, I realized that I had to keep living. I decided to stay in Belarus, to take on the organizational aspects: collecting parcels for my husband, going to visits. Although Dima said: maybe it would be better to leave, so he wouldn't worry about me and our son. But I couldn't imagine that."

At the same time, I decided that I would make the most of this period. And I started actively traveling around Belarus. This became my new anchor. I would arrive in a new city and think: I'm just a tourist. I completely switched off and felt like a different person. Thanks to this, I kept going.

Also – thanks to the support of relatives, female friends, and strangers. Furthermore, my Belarusian-language blog helped a lot: thanks to it, I found new Belarusian-speaking friends (both male and female).

Thus, I managed to build a very comfortable environment where we were all on the same wavelength, where I had happy moments even during such a difficult time. And I am grateful to myself for the desire to travel, to learn about my native land. I had never traveled so much or been so interested in our culture and people in my life.

Yulia could not share her pain publicly, so she expressed it to her relatives. Unknown Belarusians who inquired about the family also provided support.

— "It was also important – that my husband and we are not forgotten. Many people helped both with words and deeds. At any stage – even to give a ride. Solidarity in the country continues to live – very quietly, but it continues. You know, Siarhei Hrakhouski has a nice poem "Salvation":

• Catch the lifebuoy
• And swim yourself, swim, swim.

These words helped me, because you have to make an effort to survive, but also learn to accept help from others. At first, I refused, saying I would do everything myself. But then I started accepting help, building connections with people.

Павялічыць

Meetings with my husband in the penal colony also helped a lot, although they were rare. On the one hand, it was very painful, because you knew that the time together would soon end, but on the other hand – these were very happy and anticipated moments: to see each other, to spend time with our son.

— By the way, how did your son cope with Dzmitry's imprisonment?

— "At first, it was very difficult for him. In our family, both mom and dad are full-fledged parents. My husband spent a lot of time with our son – he studied with him, played with him. Therefore, the separation was a difficult ordeal for both the son and the husband."

I was very honest with my son: he knew what was happening, that dad didn't just disappear on his own. It was important for me that he understood that dad was innocent and wasn't there by his own will. Moreover, he himself had been interested in everything since 2020, even though he was still little. He listened to our conversations.

I know that some mothers don't tell their children what happened to their dad. Some don't even tell at work, because there could be consequences. And that's their choice, because the situation is difficult and painful, especially when the financial responsibility now rests solely on the mother. I worked for myself, so in that regard, I had complete freedom, and there were no secrets from my son.

We agreed that he wouldn't share our story at school. But sometimes he would get sad before bed, sit on the bed, and say: "My daddy is not here." I say: "Sonny, how can he not be? He is with you, he loves you, you communicate with him, you write letters, sometimes you can talk on the phone" (she says with tears in her eyes – S.). He needed to mourn the absence of his dad.

A good acquaintance advised that I also needed to mourn with him. Not to show "oh, everything is fine, we'll overcome this." Of course, we would have to overcome it. But I had to sit next to him and say: "I miss him very much too, it hurts me very much too, you miss your dad, and I miss my husband. Let's grieve together, cry if we want to. You can tell him what you'll tell him when he comes back, what toy you'll show him." Living through these emotions – that's what helped.

When Dima was transferred to the penal colony and there was an opportunity to make scheduled calls, I always tried to ensure that both my son and I were home during the calls.

Regarding letters... Children cannot always write letters constantly. And you shouldn't expect that from them. Sometimes, you remind him that he can write to dad – he sits down, writes, draws something. There were opportunities to maintain their connection. And my husband tried very hard in this regard: he tried to draw something, send a postcard – it was truly important.

"The security forces asked if I could live without Instagram for at least a day?"

— You and your husband were in Belarus when the full-scale war in Ukraine began. What did you feel on February 24, 2022?

— "It was a complete shock. I remember waking up early, opening the news, and waking my husband. Then, it seems to me, we hardly slept for almost a week – due to emotions, it was difficult to sleep or eat properly. Everyone was discussing only this. I wanted to scream to the whole world out of hopelessness."

It was offensive and painful that my country was involved in the war, and on the aggressor's side at that. My heart ached deeply for the Ukrainian people. I wanted to prove to the whole world that we do not support this, that we are against it. As a result, after some time, my husband was detained, partly due to his support for Ukraine.

There was also a great sense of guilt. I worked for a long time to get rid of it, because I realized that I had done everything I could. But you can't do more than you're capable of; I cannot stop the war with my own hands.

And if before the war I maintained social media in two languages, from that moment on I switched entirely to Belarusian. I spoke publicly. But when my husband was detained, he was told during his detention that if I didn't stop speaking, I would face an "understandable" fate, and my son would go to an orphanage.

He was very worried about this. But I still had to bite the bullet – I had to stay close to my son. It wasn't easy. Here, the Belarusian language saved me. I decided that a blog in Belarusian on any topic would be my voice.

— Was additional attention paid to Belarusian speakers? Especially after the start of the war.

— "The attitude towards the Belarusian language is completely unpredictable. Sometimes our fears are greater than reality, and sometimes they are justified. We know stories where the Belarusian language was a trigger, and through it, more attention was paid to a person."

Павялічыць

Much also depends on the self-censorship limit a person has set for themselves: for some, maintaining a blog in Belarusian is already dangerous. I was sometimes asked: "Aren't you afraid to write in Belarusian?" "No," I say, "I don't write on sharp political topics, mine are light."

They also asked if I was afraid to take photos in traditional costumes. But they hang in state museums, this is our heritage. At the same time, I understand that for some, this can be a "flag" (a signal/trigger).

Once someone wrote to me saying that if I maintain a blog in Belarusian and take photos in Belarusian costumes, and I'm not detained – it means something is wrong here. How hurt I was. I thought, why isn't the person, on the contrary, happy that Belarusian culture continues to live, and that I have the opportunity to show it?

I didn't "get it" for the Belarusian language. But I "got it" for not keeping silent. When we were detained, the security forces asked if I could live without Instagram for at least a day? Because I write about everything there and express my opinion.

The detention affected my use of Belarusian – before it, I spoke Belarusian 95% of the time – in shops, taxis. Afterwards, there was a setback. I started speaking Russian with strangers because I didn't have the emotional resources. 

The Belarusian language is a daily choice. You wake up and say: I speak Belarusian. On the one hand, it's natural, because it's our language. But on the other hand, in the conditions of Russification in which we live, it's a challenge to oneself.

Sometimes, you sit in a taxi, speak Belarusian – some taxi drivers will remain silent, some will say something like: "How cool, a guy recently drove and spoke Belarusian too." And sometimes, a person asks why in Belarusian, starts telling about their Belarusian language teacher.

I just wanted to get from point A to point B – without stories about teachers and people's attitudes towards the Belarusian language. When you're just starting, you're interested in what people think, but later, when you've heard so many of these stories, you just want to arrive quietly. So when there were no emotional resources, it was easier to sit down and say a few words in Russian. I greatly admire people who speak Belarusian in all situations – they are some kind of Belarusian giants/heroes. I couldn't manage that.

It was also a great pain to realize that the new generation does not know their native language at all. Children no longer hear Belarusian from their grandparents, as most of them are Russian-speaking.

There is only one option left – to speak Belarusian with the child. I started when my son was five years old. I regretted not starting earlier, but he went to school already prepared – he understood well and spoke "trasianka".

Now, at ten years old, he cannot speak the literary language because he mostly hears Belarusian only at home. In Belarus, I tried to take him to Belarusian-language events and excursions, but when the school environment is Russian-speaking, it greatly influences him.

It turned out that my son knew Belarusian better than anyone else in the class. Considering that he himself speaks "trasianka." And it's painful that such a level was considered good, and his classmates asked him for word translations.

And now, when we see parents in Threads posting a second-grade poem and complaining that they themselves cannot learn it, this is, of course, both the parents' responsibility and the consequences of total Russification. Now the Belarusian language can only be heard in the subway, on buses, possibly in some cafes. Otherwise, parents must make their own efforts to ensure their child knows the Belarusian language.

— In a post where you recounted having to leave Belarus, you raised the topic of the chasm between those who remained in Belarus and those living in forced emigration. You described how painful it was to read statements that Belarus had supposedly died. And you assured that it lives – it's just that now some have the opportunity to speak, while others do not.

Tell us how this looked to you. And what was the atmosphere like in society when you were still in the country?

— "When you are in Belarus, you cannot publicly respond to people who have that opportunity. I actively followed the news, YouTube programs. Of course, not all, but sometimes there were people who said: 'Why are you sitting there, paying taxes, continuing to serve this regime?'"

People who had left, it seemed, should have been our voice – the voice of those who don't have one yet. But sometimes, for some reason, they started putting pressure on us, when repressions were already pressing us anyway.

Once, someone even wrote to me: saying, why am I laughing on Instagram when another person cannot visit relatives in Belarus. I was so surprised. I replied that my husband also cannot visit his relatives, but I can laugh, because I continue to live. This doesn't mean that I'm not hurting, that I don't care about the fate of today's Belarus.

But I want to note that most people supported me, thanking me for showing that: not all is lost yet, there are people in Belarus who consider themselves Belarusians (male and female) and promote Belarusian culture.

I think it's important for us to remain human, not to devalue each other's problems, not to speak with accusations. In Belarus, there are anchors – native land, ancestral home. But this life is under the pressure of repression and constant self-censorship, from which I still cannot unfreeze.

People have learned to temporarily "switch off" from this, to enjoy life and simple things, so as not to go crazy.

In emigration there is freedom, but repressions still reach out, through friends, relatives, acquaintances – and you are not completely free. Here there is no ancestral home, and sometimes I see lonely people, I see how much one has to work to secure decent housing. One has to try very hard to find one's place in the sun.

It's important for us to listen to and support each other, not to teach how to live or dictate, but simply to treat different pains with understanding and respect.

"These sincere people are the invisible little heroes of my country."

— "When reflecting on the atmosphere in society, it's hard for me to say, because I deliberately, to get through a difficult period, built a comfortable environment and was in a peculiar bubble. I tried not to leave it, and as much as possible, not to contact state bodies."

I saw that there were more people who, for example, wrote in Belarusian. They got to know each other, and this was an opportunity for additional support, communication between those who were on the same wavelength, who were interested in Belarusian culture.

People voluntarily unite, go somewhere, or even organize something. You won't read much about this on social media, but it truly exists. Therefore, it's offensive to hear that "that" Belarus is no more, "that" Minsk is no more. Well, perhaps the specific one it was when a person left is no more. But any city will change – for better or worse.

People continue to do something; sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. For example, I would buy tickets for an event, and then it would be canceled. Or there was an exhibition by a writer that I wanted to visit, but I didn't make it – it closed very quickly. However, in most cases, I managed to, I saw a lot. Even in state museums, one could hear a quality lecture about writers and the Belarusian language at a good level.

In my circle, there were people who took breaks from the news, as it strongly affected their emotional state. But this does not mean that a person is excluded from the agenda. In such an environment, loud news still reaches them. Sometimes you just need to give yourself some breathing room. Because it's impossible to always sit by the door and tremble that someone might come.

Friends in emigration sometimes asked if I felt like an "enemy" or not myself in Belarus. No. In my bubble, on the contrary, I felt in my place. Yes, if you step out of it and go for some paperwork, you will express yourself very carefully and, perhaps, switch to Russian to avoid drawing attention. Not even because you're afraid, but because there are no internal resources to withstand a person's reaction, their surprise.

— You said that travels around Belarus became a new anchor for you. What places did you like the most? What is the atmosphere like in the regions? Perhaps you had the chance to talk to locals…

— "I won't name specific places. I have indeed been to many places: in villages, small towns, and local museums. Most often, people who truly love their work live and work there. Perhaps you couldn't look at this museum without tears, and the exhibition there hadn't been updated for ten years, but there would be a person who knows so much about their town, about a specific writer."

These sincere people are the invisible little heroes of my country. Thanks to them, Belarus continues to live. They remain in their places and pass on the history of the town to the next generation.

The atmosphere in such places was impressive, especially in early spring or early summer. You arrive, and you are met by a person who has been giving tours of this village for 20 years. He knows the age of the local oak, the boulder, he knows everything about the local church.

In such moments, you realize that you are touching the true history of Belarus. And this saved me. As did Belarusian nature. Even when repressions weigh on you, you realize what a difficult period it is, how many broken fates, shattered families, yet you still understand that you are on your own land, and you feel support in this – this is my home, I was born here.

I am very glad that I managed to see the Blue Lakes, Yelnya. I regret not seeing the Polesia swamps, although I am from there myself. I did a lot of kayaking on Belarusian rivers, each of which has its own current, its own atmosphere.

"Just as a loved one was torn from me three and a half years ago, so now my native land has been torn from me."

— Did you understand that after your husband's release, you would have to leave Belarus?

— "There was that understanding. The situation in the country hadn't changed, it was even getting worse. Repressions – more palpable. I looked at the experience of political prisoners who were released – only a few found a truly comfortable place where they didn't have to change themselves, where they could continue to live, perhaps peacefully and privately, but with the preservation of human dignity."

Most found it difficult to find themselves, to settle well. Psychologically it is very difficult when you are checked. You have already served your term, even though you were innocent, but you still have to attend certain lectures, to be scared when someone knocks on the door.

After you have already experienced imprisonment, it is even more painful. Here, there is probably no right choice – to stay or to leave. And there is no decision from which you win: there is pain everywhere. It's not easy to live in Belarus, and it's not easy in emigration either.

— What was your reunion with Dzmitry like when he was released? What did you do in the first few days?

— "It was a very happy moment that we had been waiting for for a very long time. We couldn't even believe it was happening. Of course, the first time we dedicated to each other, to our family. We traveled to my homeland, to my husband's homeland. But there was a lingering feeling that we had to leave, so we couldn't fully enjoy that moment. We understood that a new challenge lay ahead."

— Did you say goodbye to Belarus? I remember you wrote about your last trip to Viliya...

— "Yes, Viliya is the first river where I went kayaking. The river where my travels began. And then there was a moment when I realized: this is my last trip before leaving."

I remember detaching myself from my group, who were listening to the tour, and going to the river. I filmed the moment I said goodbye to it. Oh, I just wanted to cry. I stood, looked at the water, and wished to return there one day. (Cries).

Павялічыць

I never imagined that I would live in another country. While waiting for my husband, I traveled a lot and loved my home even more, became even more attached. And just as a loved one was torn from me three and a half years ago, and I had to learn to live without him, so now my native land, to which I had become so strongly attached, has been torn from me. But I wouldn't change anything. Perhaps I would have traveled even more.

I had to live through the childish resentment that things couldn't be exactly as I wanted. To have both family and native land nearby. I had to accept that something was being torn from me again.

"It's as if everything is fine: we're together, we've settled down somehow, the child goes to school, but still, my eyes are wet."

The family packed their entire lives into three suitcases. Among the essential items were Belarusian straw crafts, magnets from Belarusian museums, jewelry, and Belarusian literature.

— "We were in a great hurry because we were leaving in early September. We had to find an apartment, arrange documents to enroll the child in school. Then the realization came: that's it, we had left. There were periods when I cried endlessly for three days with the feeling that I wanted to go home."

It's as if everything is fine: we are together, we have settled down somehow, the child goes to school, but still, my eyes are wet. But then, little by little, we adapted, including thanks to the Belarusians (male and female) who helped here.

— How did you settle in Poland?

— "While still in Belarus, I acquired a new profession – a fitness trainer. Now I have started conducting online classes, which I am very happy about. Sport, by the way, also saves. It gives a feeling that you are strong, that there is support in your body."

I also came up with the idea for my own entertainment project on YouTube, for the implementation of which I am actively seeking sponsorship. And my husband has not yet decided on a profession and is open to offers in various fields – not only in media.

— Do you plan to return to Belarus when it's possible? How do you see our country in the future?

— "There were so many hopes that now I try not to think about how it will be, not to hope for anything. I would like to return to Belarus. For it to be a safe country where one can realize dreams and projects without pressure – so that certain people don't interfere and meddle in your affairs."

For there to be freedom, fresh air, for creativity to be born. Because under pressure, it is difficult for it to be born.

One wishes that small towns and villages have a future, that people there have good living conditions and motivation to develop. For this to be not only due to personal desire, but also supported, including financially.

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