How 25-year-old Ales saved a collection of Belarusian exhibits from disappearance. He was born and raised in Germany, but speaks Belarusian
The rescued collection consists of Belarusian exhibits, gathered after the war by Yury Popka, an emigrant of that wave.
Today, what was saved is already in Vilnius — at the Lutskievich Belarusian Museum.
The collection was given a second life thanks to the Belarusian community in Germany. The initiator was Ales Maisieyenka — an activist of the Belarusian association RAZAM e.V.
Ales is 25 years old and works as a journalist for various media, at different times for German, Belarusian, and Ukrainian outlets.
"I was born and raised in Germany, but my parents are from Belarus. They were active in the 1990s, participated in the Belarusian Popular Front, collecting signatures for Zianon Pazniak. That's why I was always drawn to Belarusian topics," he tells "Nasha Niva".
Ales speaks excellent Belarusian. He says it was very important for his parents that he at least understood Belarusian from childhood.
"My father was Belarusian-speaking; he used to speak Russian with my mother, then they also switched to Belarusian. After 2014, when the war in Donbas began, I started to become more interested in the history of Eastern Europe. That's when I improved my Belarusian language," our interlocutor recalls.
Even as a schoolboy, Ales learned about a private Belarusian museum in the German city of Leimen, which was founded in 1982 by the emigrant Yury Popka in his home. For decades, Popka collected books, documents, photographs, and objects of Belarusian culture, creating a unique collection of the Belarusian diaspora in Europe. Thanks to the support of another famous Belarusian, Barys Kit, this museum even became an official city attraction.
But after Popka's death, the museum closed, and the collection was dismantled.
The museum that was "packed into boxes"
After Popka's death, the city, which according to the agreement was supposed to look after the museum, effectively shirked this responsibility.
"I wrote to them in 2017, asking if I could visit the museum. They replied: no, it was closed because there were no visitors. All the exhibits were simply packed into boxes and moved to a warehouse," Ales recalls.
According to Popka's will, the collection remained the property of the city, and only an independent Belarus could decide its fate. Ales proposed transferring the exhibits to other museums, in Vilnius or London, but was refused. Then another refusal. And for several years, the story simply froze.
The third time he wrote was almost without hope, rather "into the void": he wanted at least to see what remained of the collection. And suddenly he received a reply: come.
"For me, it was unexpected. After two refusals, I no longer hoped they would agree. I didn't even ask to transfer the collection — I just wanted to see what was left," he says.
As it turned out, the mayor in the city had changed — and the decision was made literally with one signature.
The collection was searched for in warehouses
When city administration employees started looking for the collection, it turned out that even they themselves didn't know where it was.
"The items were stored in different rooms. They were literally searching for them for me," Ales says.
Not everything was found. Some of the exhibits disappeared. Someone broke into one of the rooms, took some items, and smashed the windows — and rainwater damaged part of the collection.
"If you compare the photos from 2007 with what we found, the difference is huge. A lot is gone. And there wasn't even a complete list of what should have been in the collection," Ales notes.
"We saved what could still be saved"
And then almost manual work began to clear the ruins: searching, cross-referencing, re-checking, and assembling history literally piece by piece. Ales sent old photographs of the museum so that employees could identify the exhibits. At the last moment, they even found a bust of Yury Popka himself.
Everything that could be gathered was transported to Vilnius.
"My father and I simply loaded the car and drove everything there. It would be good, of course, if these items were stored in Germany. But for that, there is simply no adequate infrastructure here — neither a similar museum nor specialists who could guarantee proper preservation, description, and work with the exhibits," he says.
The collection was accepted by the Lutskievich Belarusian Museum, where it will now be professionally described and preserved. Others also helped: the Kracheuski Foundation in the USA covered fuel costs, and people from the "Razam" community joined in — including those who helped deliver individual exhibits.
"Without them, it definitely wouldn't have worked," Ales admits.
For Ales, this story is not just about things.
"As a Belarusian born in Germany, I am very interested in the history of the Belarusian diaspora. And this is a unique phenomenon — virtually the only such museum that existed here."
There's also a personal connection: Ales was acquainted with Barys Kit.
"The fact that we personally knew Barys Kit, visited him, also influenced this initiative. It's nice to feel that in some sense we are continuing his work and were able to save at least part of this collection — so that it becomes accessible to other Belarusians, so that through it, one can study the history of Belarus and the Belarusian diaspora," Ales adds.
Ideal scenario — return to Belarus
This is exactly what Yury Popka wanted: in his will, he dreamed that the collection would one day end up in an independent Belarusian state.
Attempts to return the collection to Belarus have already been made. In the early 1990s, the then Ambassador of Belarus to Germany, Piotr Sadouski, was interested in the possibility of transporting it to his homeland. But after the change of government in 1994, this idea was not pursued.
"We hope that the day will come when Belarus becomes free, and these items can be transported there. Perhaps to Pruzhany, where Yury Popka was from," Ales says.
For now, Vilnius is geographically the closest point to Belarus.
In parallel, the Belarusian community in Germany is trying to implement other cultural initiatives. For example, in Frankfurt, they want to install a memorial plaque in honor of Vasil Bykau — he lived there, as did Barys Kit, with whom they were acquainted.
"We submitted this idea to the city council back in September, but we are still waiting for a response. German bureaucracy is also a challenge," Ales notes.
Nevertheless, "Razam" plans to continue engaging in cultural projects:
"We want people in Germany to better understand that Belarus is not just about politics, but also about culture, about people and history."
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