"To stop means to perish." The Unknown Statkevich

"In the penal isolation cell, writing was forbidden, and there was nothing to write with. But no one could forbid me to think. So..." Mikalai Statkevich spent 14 years in prisons and isolation cells. Reading was forbidden or there was nothing to read. Writing—nothing to write with. And if you did write something—you'd be "searched." Those essays that made it into the book are exceptions. They were based on observations and self-observations, memories. It turns out you can also "read" yourself and those around you—like a book.

Statkevich's short notes contain more philosophy than a philosophy department. Because it's real-life, not bookish. All the characters are real people, not fictional. All conclusions are survival tips.

"There are five years to return freedom to the country..."

"When a repressive regime is established in a country, people (...) have five years to return freedom to the country. After that, society gets tired, loses faith in change, and begins to adapt (...). And the regime strengthens its structures of suppression and control..." the author writes at the beginning.

Павялічыць

32 years have passed since 1994. All points of no return have been crossed. What, then, is the point of resistance? Why and for whom? Statkevich is a man of action, not words. He is who he is because he cannot be otherwise. The punishment for betraying oneself is the torment of conscience, which kills no less effectively than a bullet. Not everyone, but those—who have a conscience.

The collection consists of two parts: "The Path of Man" and "The Path of Nation." The first is the territory of social Darwinism, brought from cold prison cells. The will to live, hierarchy, roles in a group, instincts, the division into "us" and "them," the strength of personality and the strength of action. The microcosm of a prison cell does not forgive mistakes. There is nowhere to escape. How you present yourself—that's what you'll be.

Your neighbor is not a project manager with three degrees, but a 60-year-old man who kills a pedophile with a spoon to the eye. Or—"chemists" who drink window cleaner and then figure out who's in charge. It seems, what philosophy is there here? Social. This is society in miniature. The society that those who professionally discuss it in forums and panels have never seen with their own eyes. Here it is—Belarus.

The Parables of Lieutenant Colonel Statkevich

Statkevich's style echoes Marcus Aurelius and Nietzsche's Zarathustra. Sometimes—Jack London's stories. For example, the episode about a soldier who disappeared at an anti-aircraft defense "point" in the Far North during Soviet times. The guy went out "to relieve himself"—and got lost in the blizzard. Gone. Pointless to search.

Amidst the snow, a man wanders for a while, then stops, catches the illusion of "warmth," falls asleep and—freezes. But a miracle happened. The commander, having drunk, still went to look for the soldier and... found him. Alive. The man had wandered for several days in the snowy wilderness and—survived. He survived because he did not stop. The essay is called "To Stop Means to Perish."

The author's life parables struck me as the most interesting. It's clear that a person gathers many stories in their memory, but not every one becomes a parable. A parable has a meaning that can be returned to, retold.

When I think of Statkevich, I see precisely this soldier, wandering in a blizzard at the end of the world. Falling from his feet, but—moving on.

"All Belarusians are decent people until they are commanded to do evil"

In Statkevich's book, two characters emerge through all the texts: the "free man" and the "mass man." The characters have no names: each reader will insert names from their own experience.

The free man is a "superhuman" who has found his "I," his soul. He chooses freedom and creates a territory of freedom around himself. It doesn't matter whether it's on Independence Avenue or in a prison cell.

The "mass man" also makes a choice. Every day he chooses to be a slave, that is, a situation where others—stronger ones—make choices for him. And this is also a choice, let's not disparage it. He's not bad, he's... just the way he is. "All Belarusians are decent people until they are commanded to do evil," writes Statkevich.

The author gives an interesting indicator of societal breakdown: "For men, the feeling of inability to protect their woman is the first step towards transformation into a slave." As an example, Statkevich cites the mass rapes of German women by Soviet soldiers in 1944/45. This was not an accident, but a way to break the will of society. If you cannot stop it, then—you learn not to notice. That's how you become a slave. Recall the dragging of girls by their hair at rallies in Belarus, which began long before 2020.

"By not taking risks, we risk a hundred times more"

What is the tragedy of Belarus? It's not about ideology, because "every ideology is the actions of its adherents." The tragedy is that there are few free people. And each of them pays a high price for freedom. Being free is a risk. But, "by not taking risks, we risk a hundred times more." We risk turning into monsters, without even noticing it ourselves.

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