Henadz Buraukin. How to Preserve Honor After Losing a Position

As a student, he nearly died from tuberculosis, which he contracted in his 5th year. In the three months Henadz Buraukin spent in the hospital, seven bodies were carried out from his ward of three dozen neighbors.

"Girl, if you want a husband, you must feed him well, clothe him, and take care of him," the doctor told Buraukin's future wife, Yulia Zhadán, even though she was also a student and hadn't yet thought about marriage. But she couldn't abandon the boy in trouble and was the only one who visited the sick student daily. When he recovered, she married him against her mother's will. Buraukin was already an interesting person then and stood out among others: he read a lot and was a poet, but most importantly — he was passionate about the Belarusian idea. This attracted her, a Ukrainian, even though it was entirely unfamiliar to her…

They lived together for 55 years. He specifically dedicated only one poem to her — the famous "Youth's Blue Swings" — but her image is present in countless others.

Henadz Buraukin (1936—2014) was born in the village of Shulatsina (now Trodavichy), Rasony district, Vitsebsk region. As he himself noted in one of his poems, "our share of joy was meager. We grew up amidst bitter wartime aftermaths."

In 1959, he graduated from the journalism department of the BSU Faculty of Philology. He worked at "LiM" (Literature and Art), was editor-in-chief of "Maladosts" (Youth) magazine. From 1978—1990, he was Chairman of the State Committee of the BSSR for Television and Radio Broadcasting, and from 1990—1994, Permanent Representative of Belarus to the UN. Upon returning to Belarus, he was Deputy Minister of Culture and Press, then advisor to the Deputy Prime Minister. From 1995—2001, he was merely the deputy editor-in-chief of "Vozhyk" (Hedgehog) magazine.

Laureate of the Yanka Kupala State Prize, the Lenin Komsomol of Belarus Prize, and the Ales Adamovich Literary Prize.

He wrote poetry since his school years, publishing three dozen poetry books. In the 1990s and 2000s, he took an active part in independent public organizations, including heading the TBM (Society of Belarusian Language). In 2000, together with Ryhor Baradulin, Radzim Haretski, and Anatol Hrytskevich, he co-chaired the All-Belarusian Congress for Independence.

Fled. But Only Once

Buraukin's generation in literature was called philological. While predecessors were often self-taught (like Kupala), and later — "rabfakovtsy" (workers' faculty students, like the eaglets of the 1920s), during the Khrushchev Thaw, philological faculties began to produce writers. Simultaneously with Buraukin, Ryhor Baradulin, Anatol Vyartsinsky, Nil Hilevich, Vasil Zuyonak, Uladzimir Karatkevich, Ivan Ptashnikau, Mikhas Straltsou, Ivan Chyhrynau... came into literature.

Although Henadz Buraukin's fate could have turned out differently: after graduating from university, he was assigned to Vitsebsk, but his wife was in her 3rd year, and he also needed medical procedures (consequences of tuberculosis), so he got a job as a style editor of Belarusian texts at the "Kommunist Belarusi" (Communist of Belarus) magazine. Soon, the literary editorial office of Belarusian Radio tempted him, then editor-in-chief Nichypar Pashkevich invited him to "Litaratura i Mastatstva" (Literature and Art). Here he could finally engage in what he loved most — literature. Moreover, an apartment was promised. In the Soviet Union, housing could not be bought, and few could afford to build it — when Buraukin was young, the construction of so-called cooperative apartments was just beginning. Usually, apartments were distributed by place of work. Only enterprises or centers where apartments were provided earlier were considered prestigious. In this sense, members of creative unions were in a privileged position. However, the necessity of obtaining housing tied people to institutions.

Buraukin was energetic and feisty from a young age. His friends described him this way. Piotrus Brouka also said the same after meeting his father: "You have a good father, Henadz, restless and not indifferent. Now I understand you, and I understand your passion and your feistiness. You get it from your father."

Павялічыць

Brouka spoke this way during a joint trip to Polachchyna, which became a unique act of reconciliation. The fact is that in 1966, young literary figures — with Buraukin at the forefront — achieved Brouka's resignation from the position of chairman of the Writers' Union. "The battles of the stormy fifth congress of the republic's writers are not forgotten, where we, the younger ones, with youthful maximalism and uncompromising determination, fought against literary bureaucracy and excessive caution, for civil courage in everything," Buraukin recalled. "Somehow it happened (or perhaps some of our cunning advisors of the time helped it happen) that the embodiment, or at least the defender, of everything old, 'unmodern,' became for us primarily the head of the Writers' Union, honored with all possible awards and titles, confident and businesslike Piotrus Ústsinavich. Our sharpest arrows were directed against him; many of us voted against him. Of course, then, in our sweet inexperience, we couldn't know what a difficult bread it is to lead a creative organization, we couldn't even guess how hard it is in this 'skin' to be absolutely objective, how much not only talent, authority, character matter, but also discipline, and even necessity. We wanted truth and justice in their pure form, without allowances for the complexity of the time, without diplomacy or any concessions. Like all young people (and thank youth for that!), we were incorrigible idealists and demanded more from our elders than from ourselves."

At first, Brouka was, of course, offended, but then he was even grateful, as he wasn't sitting in the Writers' Union but was working on the first encyclopedia in Belarusian history. Thus, the reconciliation between the wise Piotrus Ústsinavich and the restless Henadz Buraukin took place...

"Do Not Call Yourselves Belarusians"

This was generally his distinguishing feature: Buraukin was sincere in assessing his own actions and sometimes publicly admitted what others would have hidden or kept silent about. For example, in the story of Brouka's resignation. Or when, together with Baradulin, Bykau, Vyartsinsky, and Hilevich, he signed a letter against Belarusian emigration.

When asked about the story of Buraukin's signature appearing on that collective letter, Henadz Mikalaevich said: "History will judge what we did honestly and where we were agitated by official propagandists. When I later went to America and got to know the emigrants better, only then did I learn how difficult their fate was. Many of our former compatriots did not participate in punitive actions; they were teachers in schools or worked in accounting departments or offices, earning a piece of bread for themselves and their families to survive; there was no blood on their hands. And furthermore — they genuinely wanted a free Belarus. Learning this, I realized how offensive that letter was to them..." Incidentally, when it was time to return home from the USA, Buraukin was offered to lead the emigrant movement — at least, so rumors claimed.

The letter, which was written not by its "authors" at all, but in the Central Committee of the CPB (Communist Party of Belarus), denounced emigrant writers and "Radio Liberty," accusing them of collaboration during the war. "Do not call yourselves Belarusians: you do not deserve it," the letter concluded. "Do not count on our understanding or support: we are not on the same path as you."

"And I Fled from Orsha in Fear"

This is Henadz Buraukin's candid account of how, as a student, he came to Orsha for a journalism internship, where an article against Uladzimir Karatkevich had just appeared in the newspaper "Leninski Pryzyú" (Lenin's Call) — editor Vasil Kaliberau and former partisan Leanid Vysotski decided to educate the young local star in a party-line manner. The latter offered Buraukin to write an article "on behalf of literary youth" in support of the criticism. "And I hastily and fearfully fled from Orsha, however sad it is to admit," Henadz Mikalaevich sincerely recalled. "I didn't have the courage to say everything I thought, neither to the strict editor nor to the distinguished veteran, who had treated me so well until then and gave me the opportunity to earn money for a new suit and shoes. I couldn't betray a friend whom I sincerely loved..."

This story happened in 1957. To Buraukin's credit, he never "fled" again. And, standing up for others, he sometimes risked not only his career but also his own fate.

"We Didn't Do That in 1937"

Early 1966. Vasil Bykau's novella "The Dead Feel No Pain" was published. Soon the author would be reviled "from Moscow to the very outskirts," but one of the first volleys would come from his own — the newspaper "Sovetskaya Belorussiya" (Soviet Belarus) with an eloquent article titled "Against the Truth of Life." Outraged by the unjust criticism, young poets Henadz Buraukin and Anatol Vyartsinsky wrote a protest letter to the Central Committee of the CPB (Communist Party of Belarus) and gathered signatures from more than fifty writers, including leading Belarusian writers who at the time were considered nothing less than living classics: Yanka Bryl, Arkadz Kulyashou, Ivan Melezh, Maksim Tank.

"Lads, well done!" praised old Mikhas Lynkou, people's writer, order bearer, and laureate of the Yakub Kolas State Prize. "We didn't do anything like that in 1937."

In the USSR, public protests, especially collective ones, were disliked. To prevent an "ideological diversion," Buraukin was summoned by Central Committee Secretary Stanislau Pilatovich. Yulia Yakauleuna recalled that when she saw him off, she thought she was saying goodbye, if not forever, then for years...

Павялічыць

And indeed, their names appeared in KGB Chairman Vladimir Semichastny's report to the almighty Secretary of the CPSU Central Committee Mikhail Suslov: "Some Belarusian writers openly defended V. Bykau, believing that the newspaper "Sovetskaya Belorussiya" had acted unfairly. The head of the department of "Litaratura i Mastatstva" newspaper, CPSU member, writer H. Buraukin stated: ""Sovetskaya Belorussiya" crossed out V. Bykau's work and caused an adverse reaction among writers. Mockery is taking place. After the newspaper's article, it seems that V. Bykau is being judged as if in a trial."

Павялічыць

But, surprisingly, there were no consequences for Buraukin. Except that a party meeting was held at the Writers' Union where he was supposed to be expelled from the CPSU, however, writers — even those with whom Buraukin was not on the best terms — stood up in his defense. And two years later, when he was nominated for the position of a "Pravda" correspondent, Pilatovich wrote a letter to CPSU Central Committee General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev, stating that Piotr Masherau was making a grave political error by supporting a nationalist.

Communist leaders varied.

Saved the Kupalovsky

At the interview with the main newspaper of the USSR, Buraukin frankly said that Bykau was his friend, and while criticism was certainly possible, it shouldn't be done the way it was. And this pleased the editor-in-chief, Mikhail Zimyanin, a Belarusian. However, during their second meeting, Zimyanin was already grim: although Brezhnev had signed the appointment decision, Pilatovich's letter had just arrived, accusing Buraukin of nationalism and ideological decay. "If Masherau personally vouches for you, then we'll throw the denunciation in the trash," said the editor-in-chief of "Pravda" and immediately called Minsk. Then he smiled: "You're lucky — Piotr Mironavich vouched for you."

Павялічыць

Compromises Between Power and Intelligentsia

Masherau would only manage to dispatch Pilatovich as USSR Ambassador to Poland three years later, in 1971. Pilatovich would return to Minsk from diplomatic service in 1978, but no longer to the Central Committee, but as Deputy Head of the Council of Ministers, which was a significant demotion for those times. Even the apartment sizes in Council of Ministers' buildings were smaller than in Central Committee ones.

Meanwhile, to replace Pilatovich in leading ideology, Masherau nominated a liberal, former front-line pilot Alyaksandr Kuzmin. This man did not fight with Bykau but was friends with him. In general, he acted with a carrot, not a stick. His tactics bore fruit. In the BSSR of this period, critically-minded intelligentsia did not turn to dissidence but found a niche for compromised cultural work. Not only national communists, like Buraukin, but also convinced anti-communists, like Pazniak, had the opportunity to work.

Even most participants of the "Academic Circle," crushed by the Soviet KGB in 1974—1975, were placed in various institutions within a year by Kuzmin and Deputy Head of Government Valyantsina Snyazhkova.

For that period, cooperation, not confrontation, was typical. In such conditions, Belarusian culture — and political culture — was formed during the late Soviet period.

As for Buraukin and "Pravda," here, on the pages of the main Soviet official newspaper, he wrote, among other things, about the disgraced Vasil Bykau; in addition, he published an article by the young art critic Zianon Pazniak about the destruction of Nyamiha: according to the plan of the capital's development authors, the Old Town — starting from Trinity Hill, Upper Town, and Rakaúski Suburb — was slated for demolition.

"That's when I met Buraukin," Pazniak recalled. "He was entirely on my side, but he said that for 'Pravda,' the article was too sharp. It needed to be slightly shortened and smoothed out. Otherwise, it wouldn't work, and the article was necessary: we had to defend Minsk. I immediately saw that we were like-minded in this matter and agreed that he, as editor, should make those cuts himself. Henadz somehow started to justify himself, saying that he was neither a censor nor a coward, but that it was necessary to approach it in such a way as to get it published and make it impactful."

The publication truly "hit the mark," and the building of the Kupalovsky Theater was saved. The destruction of the Old Town was also halted, albeit temporarily. Buraukin was also a "Pravda" correspondent temporarily — in 1972, he became editor-in-chief of "Maladosts" magazine.

Rumors circulated that Masherau, enraged by the article defending the Old Town, punished him, but the reason was different: Moscow began tempting Buraukin with a position as his own "Pravda" correspondent in some Western country (positions with foreign currency salaries were highly valued then, as they ensured a high standard of living), and to keep him in Belarus, Masherau gave him "Maladosts" — a magazine that came into being during Masherau's time as First Secretary of the Central Committee of the LKSMB (Leninist Young Communist League of Belarus).

Павялічыць

Incidentally, Buraukin had another temptation — to head the Belarusian Komsomol. But his wife couldn't stand, in her words, "Komsomol boys." "If you're with them, I'll divorce you," she said, and confessed years later: "Was I happy with Henadz? I still don't know the answer to that question. After all, our life was long and so diverse... It had everything: good and bad, joyful and bitter, happy and not. We weren't angels, both of us... The only thing I'm very happy about is that we have such children — daughter Sviatlana and son Aliaksei. They completely shared and share our thoughts and feelings. In this sense, I am truly happy. And if a woman is happy in her children, then she is generally happy, isn't she?..

Happiness is a somewhat strange concept... Still, more than fifty years lived together, and I cannot say they were cloudless years. How much I cried... But then you read his poem... I forgave him everything for his poetry...

In general, for Henadz throughout his life, not even work but literature was paramount. If one were to build a hierarchy of important concepts for him, it would be as follows: literature and writer friends, work, and only then came family..."

"Only for Three Years"

During Buraukin's time as editor of "Maladosts," Vasil Bykau and Uladzimir Karatkevich continued to be published under the cover with the signature cornflower; also, the famous book "I Am from a Fiery Village..." by Ales Adamovich, Yanka Bryl, and Uladzimir Kalesnik appeared for the first time, which "Polymya" (Flame) refused to publish and which Masherau recognized only after authoritative Soviet writers Konstantin Simonov and Chingiz Aitmatov gave a positive review. "Thank you, Henadz," the First Secretary of the Central Committee told Buraukin. "If it weren't for you, this book wouldn't exist."

However, he didn't stay long at "Maladosts" either — in 1978, Masherau offered him another position. Nil Hilevich wrote in his diary these days, referring to Buraukin: "It turns out he talked with Masherau for three hours. As a result — he almost agreed to become Minister of Radio and Television (deputy, CC member, government dacha, etc.). I — supported it. It's time, long past time for Henadz to step into operational space! And he will gain independence, and detach himself from the trough and pigs in the Union of Writers!"

Павялічыць

Gratitude Was His Distinguishing Feature

"I cannot officially support you in the matter of Belarusian culture from this rostrum, because I would be removed immediately, but you should do your work," Masherau told Buraukin, who didn't want to go to the State Television and Radio Committee. The decisive argument, however, became "just for three years." And he agreed. He said he remembered Masherau's support when he was appointed to "Pravda" and couldn't be ungrateful.

This was also his distinguishing feature — gratitude.

Henadz Buraukin highly regarded Piotr Masherau, the leader of Soviet Belarus from 1965—1980. Other contemporary representatives of the intelligentsia who worked in the Central Committee — Ales Pietrashkevich, Siarhei Zakonnikau — also held Masherau in high esteem. At the same time, Zianon Pazniak had a low opinion of Masherau, considering him a Russifier, although he highly valued Kiryl Mazurau, who led Belarus from 1956—1965.

Negative assessments of Masherau are also found in the memoirs of Moscow liberals of that period — for example, high-ranking CPSU Central Committee functionaries Anatoly Chernyaev and Georgy Shakhnazarov. They describe his sycophancy and lack of independent position at party plenums, attributing Masherau to the reactionary wing of the party apparatus.

How can such a divergence of opinions be explained?

Perhaps Masherau behaved differently in Moscow and Minsk. Like many state and cultural figures from the national outskirts of the empire, who considered any deviation from the "party line" impossible and overinsured themselves even in trifles. The repressions in Belarus in the 1930s were particularly harsh; Masherau's father also fell victim to them. The memory of those bloody years hung over Soviet Belarusians like a sword of Damocles.

Ultimatum

Sviatlana Aleksievich recalled seeing Buraukin for the first time. She had been denied filming a documentary about village women, and she came to the Chairman of the State Television and Radio Committee for support. "I still remember the distance Buraukin kept when I first entered his office," Aleksievich recalled. "However, when I started speaking, I realized that a connection had been established between us, that we were on the same wavelength. Five minutes later, I, an absolute girl who had just finished journalism faculty, was a guest of the poet... Buraukin was not a trivial official — he was an official-poet."

He worked 12—14 hours a day, almost without weekends, and within about a year, according to Yulia Yakauleuna, he became a professional in television. Although not everyone on television shared that opinion — they believed that by giving airtime to "nationally conscious" individuals, Buraukin sacrificed precisely that same television professionalism...

Be that as it may, it was under him that Belarusian Television became, as Ryhor Baradulin said, Belarusian. In unfavorable conditions, he made television national, to the extent it was possible within that system.

Meanwhile, only the official-poet Buraukin himself knew the true cost of this. Clouds gathered over his head when the transition to an independent Belarusian program took place.

Belarus was the last of the Soviet republics to create its own local TV channel. Buraukin secured Masherau's support for this. Work was in full swing, and then Masherau died in a car accident. A question mark hung over Belarusian television broadcasting...

As recalled by the television curator in the Central Committee of the Communist Party, Valyantsin Boltach (also a poet who published under the pseudonym Valyantsin Blakіt), on the fourth day after the launch of the Belarusian TV program, a literal wave of protests hit the Central Committee. Most were against the postponement of the "Good Night, Little Ones" program. In the opinion of the dissatisfied (who were primarily military wives from military towns), "Kalykhanka" (Lullaby) with Dziad-Baradzied (Grandpa-Beard) was no match for Khrusha and Stsiapashka.

Savely Paulau, the head of the propaganda and agitation department of the CPB Central Committee, a man of ironclad views who hated Buraukin with every fiber of his being, did not hide his joy: "You've gone too far! The bureau is meeting after lunch, and all your experiments will be ruined. Urgently turn back!"

And indeed, on the same day, Central Committee Secretary Alyaksandr Kuzmin handed Buraukin a draft resolution of the CPB Central Committee Bureau, according to which the former broadcasting format would be reinstated starting tomorrow. "I will not endorse it, nor will I give the order to turn back," Buraukin categorically replied and added: "One more point is needed here: to release Comrade Buraukin from his occupied position. I do not want to take responsibility for this disgraceful matter."

Buraukin — a member of the Central Committee, a deputy, and the chairman of the State Television and Radio Committee — was kept in limbo for over a month. A vacuum formed around him: he came to work, but no one called him or visited...

The Central Committee Bureau, led by First Secretary Tsikhan Kisialou, met without Buraukin. Everyone was openly displeased with him: look at him, he decided to issue ultimatums! But Kisialou intervened: "We always have time to dismiss him, let alone expel him from the party. Perhaps he knows something we don't?" And he addressed those present: "Who among you is capable of risking their position, career, party membership for a principle, stand up or raise your hand?" No one moved.

Feasts of the 1980s

Павялічыць

"Feasts were frequent, definitely for every holiday," says Sviatlana Buraukin. "Usually, more than 10 people gathered at the table. Potatoes were always on the table. And salads, dry sausage, baked meat. For such occasions, Mom always had red caviar in the fridge, canned salmon for salad."

Everything best that was available and that could be obtained during the era of scarcity was laid out on the table. Mom cooked well and knew how to host guests. And how they sang at the table! Father sang very well, knew many folk songs.

"I remember how beautifully they sang folk songs together with Nil Hilevich."

Tsikhan Kisialou, though Masherau's rival in the election for the head of Belarus in 1965, was a man who shared Masherau's worldview. Unfortunately, Kisialou did not remain in office for long: a severe illness took his life.

Meanwhile, for his successes as a, as one would say today, manager, Buraukin paid not only with his own peace of mind: he himself said that his positions stole more than a dozen books from him.

"Without Them, I Would Be Different"

Павялічыць

Buraukin, calling Masherau an "especially dear person," spoke only good things about him his entire life.

For example, he said: "It's a pity that today various populists and opportunists speculate with his name, which is truly dear to Belarusians. He was not what many want him to be. In my opinion, he was better, deeper, more interesting, and more nationally conscious." Although he agreed that Masherau was a man of his time and that under his direct participation, mass land reclamation, persistent Russification, and ideologically undemocratic campaigns were carried out, he nevertheless noted: "But these — let's be fair — were not his initiatives; this was the famous 'general line,' which he, as a devoted and disciplined communist, carried out with party obedience and faith in historical necessity. I don't know if he suffered emotionally from this, but I know for certain that he had doubts, as he himself told me during several frank conversations."

"The son of a repressed peasant from Vitsebsk region, he deeply felt human pain," Buraukin concluded his personal impressions of the First Secretary of the Central Committee on another occasion. "His love for the national intelligentsia could not be overlooked; it was so profound and open.

He was friends with Arkadz Kulyashou for many years and quietly wept by Ivan Melezh's coffin. And he treated Bykau with an understanding of the significance of his talent... It is a tragedy for our culture that his life was cut short precisely when he began to realize himself as a national leader..."

However, Buraukin was not grateful to Masherau alone. "Kiryl Trafimavich Mazurau, Piotr Mironavich Masherau, Alyaksandr Nichyparavich Aksionau, Alyaksandr Tryfanavich Kuzmin... also left their unique mark on my not-so-short life," Henadz Mikalaevich said and added: "And I want to bow with gratitude to many others. Without them, I would be different."

However, not only Buraukin would have been different without the aforementioned leaders of Belarus — they too would have been different without Buraukin. For it was Kiryl Mazurau — Masherau's predecessor, who effectively became the first Belarusian placed by Moscow at the head of Belarus — who asked his assistant to send him to Moscow issues of the Belarusian "Maladosts" edited by Buraukin, featuring publications by Ales Adamovich, Yanka Bryl, Ivan Melezh. And even as the First Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the USSR, he still wrote letters in Belarusian. And not just letters! Mazurau even sent his poems to Buraukin for poetic judgment...

Buraukin Thinks of Belarus

While his friend Ryhor Baradulin did not write anti-Soviet poems "for the drawer," Buraukin, though rarely, indulged in it. For example, in 1970, he wrote the fairy-tale-true story "The Sack of Medals" about a man who had a sack of awards and pinned them all on himself.

And so already,
From head to toe
Adorned with all regalia,
He could not stand on his feet —
And crashed down
In the clearing.
Wolves howled nearby.
Leaves rustled on the aspens...
But to unpin
Even one medal
His hands did not rise.

The satire on Brezhnev, adorned with orders and stars, could not be published for well-known reasons, but it circulated in so-called lists. At that time, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Aleksandr Tvardovsky, Boris Pasternak and Osip Mandelstam, Aleksandr Galich and Vladimir Vysotsky... were "passed around" from hand to hand.

A decade later, Chairman of the State Television and Radio Committee Buraukin, continuing the theme of "The Sack of Medals," wrote:

They have long been childish.
Like those infants,
They either spin films about themselves,
Or divide golden stars.
And among them —
The most famous,
Our newly-minted father
Excitedly winks his brows
And still cannot take flight.

And soon from under Buraukin's pencil (Henadz Mikalaevich usually wrote not with a pen, but with a pencil) appeared the concluding poem of this peculiar cycle titled "The Modern World Mercilessly Ages...", where aged rulers-grandfathers, whose "cheeks sagged" and "eyes dimmed,"

A powerless flock, they lost their way.
They creak like parched rails.
Assistants reposition their legs,
And doctors replace their jaws.

……………………

One thing gripped them —
To lose power —
Terror.
They shake their heads — and the whole world trembles
And no longer wishes to respect old age.

The poem is dated 1982. Publishing it for the first time twelve years later, Buraukin explained in his introductory remarks that he did so not to belatedly justify himself, but to attest to the undeniable fact that Belarusian intellectuals, "living and working in their time and with their people, reflected on everything that was happening in the Homeland, and did not agree with official lies and complacency..."

And what about the poem "Lenin Thinks of Belarus," which was studied in schools during Soviet times? Henadz Mikalaevich himself said: "I do not and will not disavow this poem... For me, it was important to convey, through censorship, what I thought about our history, our language.

I took names dear to me — Skaryna, Kalinouski, and Kupala — and tried to 'imagine' whether Lenin could have known about them." At other times, he explained: "Let's not forget — I was a 'son' of the 20th Party Congress, who genuinely believed that Leninist politics were wise, pure, and honest, and that one had to fight Stalin, who distorted them. At that time, I simply didn't know much. It's another matter that there are poems that are mandatory for me, like "Molitva" (Prayer), and non-mandatory ones — like songs about the party. The poem "Lenin Thinks of Belarus" is mandatory for me, despite everything. And songs about the party, if you want to know, were written for specific occasions.

Ihar Mikhailavich Luchanok would come and say: we need to open a concert... Many wrote about Lenin and the party then: my friend Ryhor Baradulin, and Anatol Vyartsinsky, and Andrey Voznesensky — remember: "Remove Lenin from money!" But they are not reminded of this (and rightly so!). But I am. Once the label "civil lyricism" was attached to me — I've been carrying it to this day."

Incidentally, unlike local critics, the former exiled "natsdem" (national democrat) and "anti-Soviet" Masei Siadniou (whom it is difficult to suspect of Soviet sympathies) wrote: "As rarely as any Belarusian Soviet poet, Buraukin, even in times when it was necessary to adhere to the method of socialist realism, managed to preserve his sovereignty as a poet, and even in such a slippery topic as the Leninist theme — he boldly made it Belarusian. Of course, this was not without costs, but on the whole, Buraukin's talent, artistic honesty, and humanity prevailed here too. There are not two Buraukins — there is a whole archipelago of Buraukin's poetry, let us repeat: human poetry, organically patriotic."

Voluntary Exile

The late 1980s — the time when the USSR began to crumble. During one of the rallies, in the winter of 1990, thousands of people came to the walls of television and demanded open airtime for the leadership of the Popular Front. And the chairman of the State Television and Radio Committee granted the airtime. This act (and not only this one, incidentally) cost him his position — Buraukin was offered to switch to diplomatic work and leave the country.

In essence, it was a voluntary, but nonetheless, exile. "The enemy does not sleep, including the predatory enemy of Belarusianness," wrote Vasil Bykau. "When a faint ray of revival shone on the Belarusian landscape and the function of national culture greatly increased, it was then that its sincere servant Henadz Buraukin was separated from this culture."

In turn, the then Minister of Foreign Affairs, Piotr Krauchanka, recalled: "And his appointment to New York became a calculated political exile, which significantly weakened the opposition front.

But if there were no happiness, then misfortune helped. Henadz Mikalaevich is a born diplomat. Without courses, schools, or diplomatic academies, he organically integrated into the world's diplomatic elite. Already a few months later, he was not afraid to establish the first contacts with our emigration, being the first to extend a hand to those who had been separated from their homeland for reasons beyond their control."

Buraukin wrote requests for resignation from his diplomatic post more than once, but he was granted his freedom only after four years. And although Prime Minister Viachaslau Kebich guaranteed him the position of Minister of Culture and Press, he later offered... early retirement. "Henadz, you are a naive man!" said Vasil Bykau, upon learning of this. "They won't let you anywhere. They [post-communists] will never forgive your Belarusianness."

It was during these days that he met an old Komsomol acquaintance, who confidentially informed him that he could have any high position, but on the condition that he publicly, in print, renounce his friendship with Bykau. "Tell your almighty patron," Buraukin replied, "that there are no such positions in the world, nor will there be, for which I would sell my friendship with Vasil."

Defection was not in his character.

Buraukin's Omelet and Lobsters

"Dad loved simple dishes: potatoes, draniki (potato pancakes), scrambled eggs, borscht," says his daughter Sviatlana. "He also loved the omelet Mom made. It differs slightly from the traditional one: we beat 3 eggs well, add half a glass of milk, mix, add a spoonful of flour and a little salt. Fry on a pan from both sides."

Among more complex dishes, he loved stuffed carp. Back then, this dish was prepared in almost every respectable Minsk family.

Historians say that the love for stuffed fish was inherited by Belarusians from Jews.

"And when Dad was in New York, he tasted lobster — and from then on, he considered it the most delicious food," Sviatlana Buraukin wrote to us.

That's How Poets Depart

In 1994, Buraukin briefly became Deputy Minister of Culture and Press, then — advisor to the Deputy Prime Minister, but eventually, he — a famous poet and statesman with vast managerial experience — found employment at the satirical magazine "Vozhyk" (Hedgehog), where his friend Valyantsin Boltach (Blakіt) was the editor-in-chief. Later, he also had a personal journalistic column in Alyaksandr Starykevich's newspaper "Solidarnasts" (Solidarity)...

The circle closed: he started with journalism, and ended with journalism.

This was the final act of his life, which lasted twenty years and could have tragically ended much earlier: when in 2006, the Ministry of Justice raised the question of liquidating the Union of Belarusian Writers, Buraukin, defending the organization dear to his heart, nearly died of a heart attack right in that very ministry — his heart stopped for four minutes then. When he finally regained consciousness, the first thing he said was: "You won't live to see it."

And indeed, that time, not only Buraukin but also the Writers' Union were saved.

Павялічыць

...And in January 2014, doctors gave him a fatal diagnosis. The result was a rapid decline and a final wish in life: to manage to see a book of new poems, which were mostly written at his favorite dacha in Kryzhovka, where Buraukin had a plot overgrown with tall pines in a dacha settlement west of Minsk since Soviet times.

The thought of it, perhaps, sustained him even when he could no longer eat or drink. "Three days before his death, we brought him his book of poems. The last one. He simply yearned to see it, for he understood, he knew it was a farewell," wrote Uladzimir Niakliaeu, the editor of Buraukin's book, later. "And you had to see his face when he took the book in his hands. It was not happiness or joy — it's hard for happiness or joy to manifest at the boundary of life and death — it was Great Serenity. That he had lived life as it should be. Done what he could. That's how poets depart."

He truly remained a poet throughout his life, for whom Belarus was paramount.

This is the title his wife would choose for her book of memoirs. "He fought for Belarusianness all his life — no matter what, no matter me, no matter the children..." she would say. "And, of course, he was right when he asked for these lines to be on his tombstone:

You, my people, will not reproach me:
I gave everything to you — my life and strength...

Because Belarus was paramount for him. It was constantly in his soul and heart. This was his true life."

Many hit songs were written to Buraukin's poems: "Zavirukha" (Snowstorm), "Zacharavanaya" (Enchanted), "Kon' nezatsuhlyany" (Untamed Horse), "Piershaye spatkanne" (First Date), "Belyya kryly" (White Wings) — these are what come to mind automatically. Not to mention the lullaby "Bayu-bai, vachanyaty zakryvai" (Sleepy-bye, close your eyes): "A long day, a warm day drifts behind the clouds..."

And Eduard Khanok set to music the famous "Molitva" (Prayer), which the author himself considered among "poems mandatory for me."

Prayer

We saw freedom from afar
And have not yet broken free from chains...
God,
Do not add to my people
Pestilence,
Injustice
And suffering.
In a foreign, inhumane earthquake,
Were we perhaps at fault in anything?..
God,
Avert from Belarus
Betrayal,
Treachery
And war.
In a sorrowful, desolate time,
When everything around is breaking down,
God,
Shelter my Homeland
With wisdom,
Peace,
And warmth.

This was an archival text from "Nasha Historyya" (Our History).

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