Lawyer Aliaksandr Danilevich: I was led to a cage at the checkpoint and read a state security decree on my pardon at the request of the International Olympic Committee

Today I finally decided to do what I had planned back in cell 48 of Pre-trial Detention Center No. 1, when my path to imprisonment was just beginning, and I was full of hope, confusion, and bitterness over lost opportunities. I planned to interview myself. A small attempt at writing.

Why in an interview format? Perhaps it seems most logical for a brief account of what happened and what is happening. To answer questions. You might say it's like a farce? So what! There was so much of it that continuing in the same vein seems entirely logical.

I will not talk about the penitentiary system or the court. I cannot allow myself to do that. I live in Minsk. Additionally, I would like to clarify some questions that arose in the media regarding my release.

So, today I am conducting a small interview with Ales Danilevich, who was released in late July this year and announced it on his professional Facebook page.

— Good day, Ales!

— Good!

— Thank you for agreeing to meet and talk.

— I myself am glad for this opportunity.

— Briefly tell us what happened to you in 2022.

— There's not much to tell. A lot, and it's true, has already been written online. People were interested in what was happening in my life, and they posted quite truthfully. I'd like to note that the information claiming I was arrested for an anti-war stance is untrue. The matter concerns my legal practice and an interview related to it.

— Tell us more?

— No, everything is described online. Why return to it again.

— Who arrested you?

— The KGB. For the first two weeks, I was held in "Amerikanka" [KGB pre-trial detention center in Minsk]. Then they sent me to "Valadarka" [Slovalovskaya prison]. Apparently, I had become uninteresting to them there. My case was directly handled by the central Investigative Committee. In the KGB, they offered me a deal, cooperation, promising freedom or a maximum sentence if I refused. I refused. They kept their word, and I received the maximum sentences for both articles, despite being an "accomplice" on one of the articles.

Notably, I was arrested in the same case where I was denied access as a defense lawyer several months prior. I remember I challenged that refusal for a long time.

— But your case is unique in that the Supreme Court later reduced the sentence by a full 4 years on appeal?

— Yes, my lawyers and I worked quite well. I had two of them. True professionals. I won't name them. But it's their merit. The appeal lasted two sessions.

— What was the most difficult thing in pre-trial detention and imprisonment in general?

— Separation from family. You get used to everything else, you start to adapt. Of course, it's hard to put up with rudeness and stupidity. There was plenty of it. I mean "colleagues" on the bunks. After all, marginals make up the majority of those arrested and convicted. But you learn endurance. You don't want to end up in the punitive isolation cell because you hit some scoundrel. So you stay silent. It's a survival tactic.

There were also those who didn't adapt, constantly protested, showed character. I have a dual attitude towards such people. On the one hand, I respect them for their principled stance; on the other hand, I believe it's a destructive position for one's own health. You need to think more about yourself. Your loved ones need you free.

— How did your family cope with your imprisonment?

— It's probably better to ask them themselves about that. It was difficult, of course. It's not easy. But when I got out, no one felt any wild joy. Interesting, isn't it? Everyone had just waited so long for release, for some chance, and then it became a reality, and here I am, shorn and thin, standing at the threshold of my sister's apartment, and she hugs me and runs to the kitchen to feed me. New worries. A stage of life completed. A new one begins, with its own difficulties and challenges.

— We'll talk about your release later; tell us what helped you during your imprisonment?

— Friends, books and letters, calls. Faith in God. Friends are very important there, especially close ones. It's not a revelation; in conditions of captivity, you need a close friend who will simply help you, and you him. Eating together, discussing personal problems and news together, helping each other with everyday matters.

In the pre-trial detention center, I received letters from strangers, and packages. It's a great pity that many of those who wrote and sent packages later became subjects of criminal cases. I replied to everyone. I think no one received any replies from me. They also wrote to the penal colony, but I didn't receive those letters. If they were registered mail, I was called to the staff office, where they told me that such and such letters had arrived for me, but they weren't handed over because they weren't from close relatives. Not allowed. But at least I knew a letter had come for me.

There was such a life hack, as they say now. I remember the first letter from a girl I didn't know; she wrote about "the first sip of beer after release." There was also a photo of a forest, our ordinary forest. I don't know if she will read this interview. So, the first sip of beer, right there in Shklov, where I was released, indeed happened. Non-alcoholic, as I usually take. But the beer was warm, and therefore tasteless. Such is the irony of fate. I laughed to myself at that moment. Usually, for some reason, non-alcoholic beer isn't put in the refrigerator in stores.

Books! Books became my salvation! I probably read more books during my time there than in my entire life before that.

— What kind of books were they?

— You know, mainly classic novels, realism. I don't really like fantasy; the most fantasy I can read is Bradbury and Murakami. I believe that until you've read all the classics, there's no point in tackling modern easy reads (laughs). Although I really liked the detective novels by the Norwegian author Jo Nesbø. It's clear he's a great patriot and loves his hometown.

I read in English, Belarusian, Russian. Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Dreiser, 20th-century English literature. I really liked Melezh, his "Paleski Chronicles" [The Polesia Chronicles]. I believe it's a great fortune for our culture that such books were published back in Soviet times. Overall, after reading them, one gets the impression that Melezh planned a continuation but couldn't do so for several political reasons. He would have had to write about Stalin's terror.

I believe we are very prone to stereotypes that American or French literature is better than ours. Untrue. Different authors, different styles. For me, Ivan Melezh is no worse than Hemingway. In general, books became my salvation. And they greatly expanded my horizons, even influencing the quality of my speech. That's a big plus of prison (laughs).

— Do you continue to read as much now?

— Unfortunately, no, there simply isn't time, although, it seems, I don't have the same kind of work as before prison. But daily routine, worries don't leave much time. Although I am continuing Stendhal's "The Red and the Black," which I started reading in the camp. But I read it little by little.

— What else can be considered a positive acquisition, if any, from prison?

— A philosophy of life. It's more positive now, I guess. Guberrman wrote very well about this in his "Gariks" [short, often sarcastic poems]. I read him in the camp. I highly recommend it to understand what an educated person experiences in prison. And generally, in my opinion, Dostoevsky wrote the best book about prison, his "Notes from the House of the Dead." He himself was imprisoned for 6 years. 160 years have passed, and much remains the same from the point of view of psychology and the perception of an intellectual. True, I haven't read "The Gulag Archipelago," nor Shalamov's works. I told myself that there had been too much prison in my life to read books about it there too.

Also, seeing happiness in small things. You know, for my 50th birthday, a friend gave me a piece of good Turkish soap with "50" engraved and a smiley face in the "industrial zone". I will remember that gift forever. Just a piece of good soap, but there it's important, especially when your finances are limited, when you're recognized as a "malicious offender".

— Were you a "malicious offender"?

— Yes, but there's nothing strange about that. Read about it in publications by former prisoners; they've explained it better.

— Did you know about the support for you outside the camp?

— In the camp itself, there was practically no information about it. When I was preparing the package of documents for a pardon, I attached petitions and recommendations from well-known organizations and people. My lawyers handled this. I knew nothing about any articles being published about me. My relatives didn't write about it; they didn't want to draw attention to me.

— Did you submit documents for a pardon?

— Yes, I submitted them twice. In early 2025 and early 2026.

— Were you offered to write [a petition], like others?

— No, I was never offered. I was called in for an interview once, but by that time, I had already submitted a petition, and they just asked me questions and sent me back to the workshop to work.

— Did you admit guilt?

— I wrote that I regretted what had happened. Something like that.

— And did you know about the award from the European Criminal Bar Association in the field of human rights in 2024?

— Somehow I heard about my nomination and Vital Braginets's nomination. That's true. We even discussed it. Vital and I were in the same cell in the pre-trial detention center for 4 months, and then in the same colony. Even our lockers were next to each other in the changing room of the shoe workshop this year. So we saw and spoke to him almost every working day.

Returning to the award — I only learned about the award itself after my release. A colleague told me when we met, then I Googled it — yes, indeed. It's pleasant, of course, but I was also surprised — I'm no human rights defender, and I never seriously dealt with criminal cases in my practice; I simply worked with my clients, and they paid me fees for it.

— How is Vital doing?

— At the time Vital and I were in contact, he was fine. He's serving his sentence very calmly, as always, writing many long letters. At the time of my release, he was working in the shoe workshop. He was gluing some shoe parts. Overall, it can be said that he's doing okay there, without complications. Although, of course, he shouldn't be there. I periodically stay in touch with his relatives, sending regards.

— Tell us about the reasons for your release, how did it happen?

— It all happened quite unexpectedly. I was sitting idly at a machine in the shoe workshop, just doing nothing. I hear our foreman, a murderer, calling me by name and telling me to go to the staff office immediately. I changed and left. I didn't say goodbye to anyone; I had no idea why they were calling me. I went through the checkpoint, a search, met the staff orderly, also a convict; he looked at my tag, and his eyes widened. In the staff office, I signed a document stating that I would live at my registered address. No one told me anything. Even when I asked questions about what was happening.

Then they took me for a search and cut off my yellow tag there. I started to guess that I might be released. The tag is cut off upon release. Then they took me to a small cage at the checkpoint. I was sitting. It wasn't fast. When they brought my tracksuit and gave me documents to sign for the destruction of personal belongings, everything became clearer. They led me to the negotiation point, called my wife to say I was being released. I said I would get home myself.

A bored young soldier came to look at me, joked that they might put me in the punitive isolation cell, and I told him it seemed I was being released. Later, they brought my crocs clogs; everyone had been surprised before then how they let me have them in the camp — on the wide white sole edging, there's a thin red stripe. There was a question upon acceptance, but one officer told another: "Well, they're blue on top, aren't they?! So it's allowed."

In general, in these clogs and tracksuit, I was led to the exit. There, a standard identity verification was carried out, and a state security decree on my pardon "at the request of the International Olympic Committee" was read out. They led me out of the zone territory, in the accounting office they gave me my money (thank God I had some), my wedding ring, and a body cross, and an officer showed me which way to go.

So there I was in those crocs, trudging to Apyalonawka railway station. From there, via Orsha, I reached Minsk by train. I even managed to lie down on the bedding in a couchette car on the Adler — Kaliningrad train, next to tanned women. Well, not quite next to them, of course (laughs).

— How much time did you have left to serve?

— A year and three months. And I had spent four years and two months behind bars.

— So, the repeated petition worked?

— I think my petition had nothing to do with it. But the IOC's request — yes. And everything would have gone through without my formal petition. By the way, I visited the IOC headquarters in September and personally met and thanked the person who oversaw my issue there. A pleasant guy.

By the way, I already heard while free that some people in the colony were saying I was released because I started cooperating with law enforcement agencies. Oh, those rumors in the colony, the so-called "Zek-FM"! I was offered cooperation this year, it's no secret, the guys knew about it. They also knew that it came to nothing. We talked and went our separate ways. I don't even know how to comment on these rumors. Let them think what they want. The dog barks, but the caravan moves on...

— What did you feel in the first minutes after leaving the colony?

— A strange feeling! Overall, it was a mix of "Well, I'll be damned!" and concern for the new world and tasks that had arisen around me. And also the understanding that there's more external order and cleanliness in the colony than in the outside world. There was no euphoria. I was just in a new place, and I needed to get home quickly.

— How has Minsk changed in your four years of absence, and what was the most difficult aspect of adapting to everyday life?

— Minsk has changed, of course. New cafes and restaurants, buildings. Trees have grown, some have been cut down. Of course, I saw some things on TV during mandatory viewings of Belarusian television news programs. I wouldn't say it got worse. Many Chinese electric cars. "Valadarka" [prison] is under reconstruction...

Everyday adaptation? There was no adaptation. I live as I lived. Daily life hasn't changed; I haven't forgotten how to use a washing machine or dishwasher. There's no syndrome. Many tasks, job searching, meeting friends, old and new. My diet has improved, there are more opportunities for sports. Normal life... It's just a pity that friends remained there, behind the barbed wire.

— How do you assess your physical and moral state now, and who helped you get back on your feet in the first few months?

— My physical condition has improved; I've gained weight, I eat better, as I've already said. Here, fruits and vegetables are almost unlimited. There are many apples this year. I eat them voraciously! But there, it was a delicacy. And not always available. You'd buy enough for a week at the store, one apple a day to eat.

My family mainly helped me get back on my feet, but friends also helped as much as they could. There were people who simply surprised me in a good way with their kind attitude. I won't name specific names, so as not to accidentally forget anyone.

My sisters helped me very much and continue to help. I am very grateful to them. They are great, I love them! They supported my family and children a lot while "dad was on a business trip."

— You dedicated decades to jurisprudence, international arbitration, and teaching at the Faculty of International Relations (FIR) at BSU. How do you cope with the ban on your profession, and do you see an opportunity to apply your knowledge in new realities?

— You know, on September 1, 2022, for the first time since 1981, I didn't "go to school." First there was school, then university, then I immediately started teaching, first at the Academy of Public Administration, then at BSU. In prison, I dreamt that I was late for lectures. Such an academic nightmare. I dreamt that I was speaking in an auditorium.

I miss both the university and my legal practice. I loved this work and was very happy in my profession. Although there were difficult moments, I enjoyed this job, and I gave lectures and wrote articles on the topic of my legal and arbitration practice. Everything was very harmonious.

As for new realities, there's no ban on the legal profession itself for me. I currently work part-time as a legal counsel at a manufacturing enterprise. I still serve as an international arbitrator and can represent parties in international commercial and sports arbitration. I have a website; I continue to position myself as an arbitrator, expert, and representative in arbitration. So I will apply my knowledge; I just need to adapt to these realities. It has become more difficult.

— In court, you said you simply helped people and had no right to refuse them. How, in your opinion, has the very concept of legal practice and the right to defense in Belarus changed in recent years?

— I have no idea. I'm not working as a lawyer now. It's better to ask lawyers who have been practicing for a long time and can answer based on their experience. I don't like the reform of the legal profession itself that took place in 2021. It was better before, in my opinion. A lot of criticism has already been written about it too.

— Many released prisoners leave the country. Why did you decide to stay in Minsk?

— I'm not sure if it would be better abroad. I have an apartment here, and loved ones. Plus, I don't have the same post-release restrictions that many former prisoners faced. This includes preventive supervision, in particular. Not everyone would want to live with restrictions, for example, for 2 years, after spending 6 years behind bars prior to that.

Plus, my profession implies a strong connection to a specific jurisdiction, in this case, Belarus. Abroad, I am not the lawyer people would turn to first. There are nuances. If I were a carpenter or an IT specialist, it would probably be easier to earn a living abroad. I think I wouldn't have been lost there if I had left; it's another matter how I would have felt there.

— And here, are you not afraid?

— No. I simply don't want to be afraid. I live, trying to rebuild my life. I have no fear. I don't dwell on bad things. I am careful about what I do, what I say. But fear, I repeat, I don't have. I am happy to be home.

— Before your arrest, you headed the Belarusian Rugby Federation and dealt with sports law. Does sport remain a part of your life today?

— Well, I haven't headed the Rugby Federation for a long time; that's all history; formally, I am a member of the federation. I know that the federation itself is going through tough times now. I remain an arbitrator for the Court of Arbitration for Sport in Lausanne; in September, I went to a conference and seminar of the court in Switzerland. This topic interests me, and I will pursue it.

As for my personal involvement in sports, I must say that I haven't returned to kayaking yet — there's simply nothing to transport the kayak with; my current car has no place to attach a roof rack. But I regularly ride my mountain bike, using it as transport, I go to the pull-up bars at the nearest school, I have my own training program, I've been to the roller-ski track a few times to roller-ski, and I went ice skating with the children. Gradually, I am returning to a more active life. This brings joy and body tone.

— Ales, thank you for this conversation. What would you wish for those who will read it?

— Thank you too for your interest. I wish everyone what we all often lack: faith, hope, and love! As the well-known wisdom proclaims, even after the darkest night, dawn always comes.

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