"They came almost every night": political prisoner speaks about home confinement in Belarus
Tsimafei (the man's name has been changed for security reasons) was sentenced to home confinement in early 2023. For some time after the trial, he served his sentence, facing constant pressure from the authorities. It led to a new trial and a change of punishment: instead of home confinement, the man was sent to a penal colony. After his release, Tsimafei left the country.
He spoke with Viasna about home confinement in Belarus and the conditions of detention in the Škloŭ colony.
"When they broke into our house, they knocked my mother down"
In 2020, Tsimafei, like many Belarusians, took part in the protests. In addition, he left comments on social media. In 2022, police officers came to his work, confiscated his phone, and asked where he was at one time or another. His apartment was also searched. A month later, it happened again, only this time he was not at home: his elderly mother opened the door.
"She thought I had forgotten something and returned home," Tsimafei recalls. "That's why she didn't look through the peephole, but immediately opened the door. When riot police burst into the house in masks with shields and flickering flashlights, they knocked my mother down and demanded her to tell them where I was. My mother has heart problems, and she couldn't recover for a long time. To lower her blood pressure, we called an ambulance. While I was serving my sentence, she suffered a heart attack.
Without apologizing, the investigator left his phone number and said that it was better for Tsimafei to call him back, otherwise they would find him anyway. He called the same day, they spoke to him in rudely and left him in the police department for one day.
"A local police officer told me that it was pointless to deny anything," says Tsimafei. "He advised me to write the whole truth, and then I will get a maximum of one year of probation. I confessed; they let me go a day later and didn't bother me for several months."
"They came almost every night."
Tsimafei came to his trial without a lawyer: his friends warned him that there was no point in this. The man calls the trial a "staged performance"; there he was sentenced to home confinement. As soon as he exhaled, he realized that his trials were just beginning.
"Home confinement is used to break and crush a person," says Tsimafei. "You can only go to work, and you must return from it until 19.00. You can't leave the house under any other pretext, even on weekends. Police officers constantly check you to see if you are at home. They can arrive at any time at night, and before my arrest they came almost every night. If you're asleep and you haven't opened the door, that's a violation. My friends said that it got to the point that while the person was at home, they turned on their camera, pretended to press the doorbell button, and although there was no call, they recorded it as proof that the person was not at home, and they automatically received a violation record. It happened that they were rude to me with the camera turned off, and then turned it on and said: 'Sorry to bother you, have a good day.' They disturbed people's sleep and just humiliated them. There was one purpose: to put the person to prison.
This went on for two or three months after the trial. In addition to regular visits, Tsimafei had to attend weekly meetings for those sentenced to home confinement for political reasons. They either discussed questions like "how to earn public recognition" or watched Belarusian television. Every Monday it was necessary to come to report to the local police department. During this time, three violation reports were drawn up against Tsimafei. One of them was drawn up when the man's acquaintance asked him to go to a pharmacy to get medicines for him. When Tsimafei returned, police officers were already waiting for him near his house.
"We were punished for things which the murderer and rapist got away with"
After three violations, Tsimafei's case was transferred to the court again, and a new trial was held to replace his punishment with a more severe one. The man was sent to a colony, where he spent a little less than a year.
"I was taken away 10 days after the trial," says Tsimafei. "First there was the police department, then prison No. 8 in Žodzina, then penal colony-17 in Škloŭ.
After two weeks of quarantine, the political prisoners were gathered in one hall of the colony for a questioning. After this meeting, all the people came out with yellow tags, and after quarantine, they were all evenly distributed into squads.
"The yellow tag means increased attention to you," explains Tsimafei. "Every morning, an inspector came and examined each 'yellow-tagged' person in the hope that someone had not shaved or looked untidy. It was forbidden for political prisoners to give anything to each other, even a cigarette. The people who turned us in were rewarded. We could sleep only on the upper bunk bed.
Tsimafei visited the local hospital for a while. Doctors admitted that they did not have the necessary medicines, so they only relieved symptoms.
"The only consolation there was the church, the library, and the stadium," Tsimafei says. "But at the beginning of the summer of 2023, the political prisoners were deprived of this too. You couldn't even stand by the fence and talk to someone from the next squad. And all the books related to psychology, those which could somehow strengthen one's spirit were taken away from the squad.
Political prisoners in the colony were also isolated from any contact with the outside world. For example, they were deprived of meetings for minor violations, and they were taken to have phone calls separately. They could have thrown them into the a punitive isolation cell (SHIZO) so that the person would not be included in the call schedule: some political prisoners could not contact their relatives for a month. Political prisoners were not allowed to use a washing machine or refrigerator, because they were intended only for those who cooperate with the administration.
"They searched you to do you harm, rather than to find something forbidden," Tsimafei recalls. For example, I had a package of spices, and they opened it so that it would spill out on my things and everything else. They pierced the coffee and tea bags with a pen.
We were punished for things which the murderer and rapist got away with; it's easier for them to live in prison. Maybe I was pressured less because of my age, but young guys were constantly in SHIZO for formal reasons. When some minister and other inspectors arrived, they hid the "yellow-tagged" upstairs, while the rest walked around the yard. In addition, every two months we were suggested to apply for a pardon.
"I thought it was over."
All political prisoners leave the colony "through SHIZO": this means that they have to spend several days there. The window and the "feeder" are constantly open in SHIZO, so you are always there in a draft. There is no bed linen: people are forced to sleep on bare boards. Tsimafei's blood pressure rose because he was stressed out, but he did not receive medical treatment.
"They spread my legs wide and kicked them." A former political prisoner spoke about colony No. 17 and the persecution after his release
"When I was released, I thought it was over, but I had to report and attend lectures again," says Tsimafei. "If you miss it, you will get 15 days of detention. I could not get a job in state organizations, but in private ones they understood everything and said that I had done everything right. Police officers started coming again, although this time no more than three times a week and no later than nine in the evening. It's all very stressful, and they put pressure not only on political prisoners, but also on their families. The children services constantly came to the house of one political prisoner to check the conditions where his children lived, and his wife was harassed at work.
Tsimafei lived in such conditions for about six months, after which he realized that he would not be left alone and decided to leave the country.
"I will have my point of view and stick to it anyway," the man explains. "I understand perfectly well that next year's elections will not allow me to live in peace: everyone who was against will be imprisoned and detained under any pretext, but they will try to keep it a secret. I left and I hope that now, at least, they will stop coming and will leave my mother, relatives, and neighbors alone. Now I no longer believe in peaceful protest, rallies, and slogans. The state understands only the language of power, and the system is aimed at breaking a person.
