Where is Belarus?
The country ruled by the Kremlin-subordinate Alyaksandr Lukashenka has been transformed into a “Mordor” threatening its neighbours. Most would like to cut ties and forget about its existence. Belarus has become more distant.
August 10, 2024 -
Paulina Siegień
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Articles and Commentary

Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya visiting Wrocław on January 10th 2023. Photo: Shutterstock
It is the middle of July, peak summer. The days are hot, sunny and long. The participants of the Tutaka festival, which takes place at this time, can enjoy a bit of coolness in the shade of trees growing in the Boryk forest near Gródek. This is the same place where the iconic Belarusian festival Basovishcha existed for some 20 years. In 2020, the year of the pandemic, the Belarusian Student Society which organized the festival announced that there would not be any future editions as the concept had fizzled out. The fans of the event were disappointed.
More or less at the same time, the Tutaka foundation was created in Białystok. It aims to support Belarusian culture in the Podlachiaregion and build bridges between the Belarusian minority in the region and the Belarusians on the other side of the border. But already in the spring of 2020 the peaceful revolution began in Belarus. It erupted after Alyaksandr Lukashenka used force to quell the protests and stay in power in spite of the election results. As a result, thousands of Belarusians would escape the country. In 2021, Paweł Stankiewicz, the director of the Tutaka foundation, decided that the Belarusian festival in Gródek is still needed to integrate the diaspora dispersed across Europe and around the world.
In mid-July of 2023, a third edition was already underway and Paweł moves from tent to tent towards a little stage where discussions are taking place. Most of the larger events in Belarus, like the famous Slavic Bazar in Vitebsk, gather more Belarusians than the Tutaka festival in Podlachia. But everyone present perfectly understands what Stankiewicz intends. Only white-red-white flags flutter amongst the trees, Belarusian is spoken rather than Russian, books in Belarusian are sold next to various gadgets adorned with national Belarusian symbolism – from key chains to sweatshirts. There are performances of Belarusian artists. Activists and politicians have arrived. They are all bound by the great dream of a democratic Belarus and by their resistance to the authoritarian regime of Alyaksandr Lukashenka.
“Tutaka”, the word that became the name of the foundation and festival means “here” in Belarusian. It appears in the local Belarusian dialects in the Podlachia region. It is not difficult to hear it in the neighbouring villages. Alina Koushyk, who was invited onto the stage at the official opening of the festival, decided to refer to this word in her brief speech. Koushyk, who has a degree in history, has worked for many years as a journalist and TV presenter at Bielsat. In September 2022 she left the TV station to join the United Transitional Cabinet of Belarus where she works on the Belarusian national awakening.
“We are here together today to underline our identity, our place on earth”, she says from the stage. “Today I would like to talk to you about the meaning of the words tut (here) and tutejszy (from here)”.
This is how the Belarusians would define themselves when the ethnographers would visit in the 19th century. The local peasantry would often say this about themselves be it in today’s Belarus, Polesia or Podlachia when someone from the outside tried to define with which nation they identify. This self-defining “tutejszość” (“from-hereism”) continued to function even into the mid-20th century in some places. Academia and officials alike treated it like an expression of a lack of national consciousness. The history of Belarus however, shows that this “from-hereism” was often a conscious elusion which allowed for maneuvering between the Russian imperialism suffocating Belarusian culture and freedom, and the Polonization supported by the Catholic Church. In his famous drama Tuteishiya, Yanka Kupala condemned such an attitude. This Belarusian classic rejects not only cowardice with regards to self-expression, but also a dangerous conformism that displays readiness to get along with any authority, even at the cost of denying one’s own roots.
This dilemma has never left the Belarusian nation, but Alina Koushyk reminds from stage, that this ambiguous “from-hereism” was at some point tested and debated, which in turn led to new meaning. In 1986, a literary group called Tutejszyja was formed, and in 2000 an internet portal called Tut.by became a credible news source and a symbol of the Belarusian internet integrating its users. Koushyk reminisces further remembering the legendary album called Ya naradziysya tut (I was born here), a compilation of songs sung by Lavon Volski, Dzmitryj Vajciuškievič, Veranika Kruhlova and Alaksandr Pamidorau. All the songs dealt with identity, roots and difficult relations with the homeland.
The cover was designed by Ales Pushkin, an artist from Grodno who passed a way just a few days before the Tutaka festival, on July 11th, 2023. Pushkin had been serving a politically motivated sentence for his participation in the 2020 demonstrations. He became ill in the prison but received no medical assistance. His death shocked the many people active in Belarusian societies on both sides of the border. The participants of the festival honoured Pushkin with a minute of silence, while the Belarusian artist Yana Shostak screamed for a minute on the stage.
Alina Koushyk reminded the audience of strong declaration connected to “from-hereism” and ties to a place. The poet and musician Alyaksandr Kulinkovič, a founder of the iconic band Neuro Dubel sang: “Ya pamru tut” (“I will die here”). No more examples are needed to show how central, deep and sometimes fatal this link between the Belarusian cultural code and its land really is.
Poldlachia is a border region inhabited by a Belarusian minority. The cultural landscape of the area – its wooden villages, colourful wooden Orthodox churches and wild nature are extensions of the Belarusian countryside. In independent Belarusian media one can even find texts that discuss how Belarusian emigres living in Poland like to travel to Podlachia to get a feeling of home, like in grandma’s village. But it also there that the awareness of the parting with the homeland is most painful for Belarusians. The proximity to the country reminds them of the unfinished revolution of 2020, the repression, torture, political court proceedings and draconian sentences. Belarus is at their fingertips with just a few kilometres to the border. However, this physical proximity is an illusion. Belarus is now separated by a border fence guarded by thousands of Polish soldiers. The country controlled by Lukashenka who is subordinate to the Kremlin’s wishes. It has transformed into a “Mordor” threatening its neighbours. Most would like to cut ties and forget about its existence. Belarus has become more distant.
I once came across a post in one of the social networks. Like most random posts it is impossible to find today. But I remember that the author was wondering if Belarusians even need their own state. In emigre communities’ Belarusian organizations, culture, language bloom. Whilst back in the russified state the language is treated with arrogance, at a certain point even seen as symptom of political extremism. Beyond its borders Belarusian history might be showcased freely. Not the distorted version with its false symbolism, like the red-green flag and the cabbage-shaped coat of arms. But the history that reaches to the Principality of Polotsk and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. A history that has room for the Belarusian Democratic Republic – the first modern Belarusian state founded in the spring of 1918. It did not survive for long, but left a legend that inspires future generations. Culture and independent media are thriving in exiled Belarusian societies removed from the strangulating rope of the Lukashenka censorship and the fear of imprisonment. Belarusian artists and writers abroad are not only catching up with gaps in their historical knowledge, but also involve themselves with current trends in western culture. In 2016 the Belarusian London-based publishing house Skaryna Press published Piesny traliejbusnych rahuliaŭ (Песьні тралейбусных рагуляў), the first LGBT+ novel written in Belarusian by Uladislau Harbacki. In 2023 the book was renewed with a second edition. Harbacki’s book was very popular at the stand of the publisher during the Tutaka festival.
Maybe the author of that social-media post I remember vaguely, but whose thesis was so clear, was correct? Perhaps Belarus is a virtual entity. An online one that functions outside of its habitat with a greater potential of growth than Belarus charmed into its borders. A Belarus filled with fear and repression. A Belarus russified and taken hostage by the Kremlin. The terms “here” and “there” have blurred during this enormous wave of Belarusian emigration. It provokes the question: who is now “from-here” in the sense of the meaning bestowed by Belarusian culture?
This is especially the case as the word tut, and its derivatives carries with them an ambiguity of location. Their use depends on the position of the subject. Wherever there is a person who says over “there”, there is always a “here”. Can a Belarusian man who lives in Gdańsk, or a Belarusian woman who lives in Vilnius say that they are “from-here”?

The Tutaka festival Photo: Rusłan Seredziuk / Tutaka archives
“Belarus is not a country, it’s not borders. Belarus is its people. Wherever people carry Belarusianess with them. People who speak Belarusian, care for its culture, display an active civic attitude, that’s where Belarus is”, says Franak Viačorka, the advisor to opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, when I ask him what this famous Belarusian “tut” means now.
At the same time Viačorka stresses that this large Belarusian exodus is forced and does not mean that one should sever ties with Belarus. On the contrary. Everything Belarusians do while exiled should serve one goal – the change of government and creating the conditions for a return to the country.
“There are millions back in Belarus who support changes. They are also vessels for our culture”, he says. “But they don’t have any space for themselves. They are somewhat dormant, waiting for the right moment. I am convinced this moment will come. Our task, meaning the people who left, is to be active: organize festivals, events, caring for the language, history, culture and symbols. It is great that various initiatives and businesses are developing abroad. When the time comes, Belarusians can return quickly to rebuild the country.”
I ask Viačorka if the return of all these developing initiatives in exile is even possible.
“The Belarusian nation has gone through many difficult trials. But many other nations have also experienced times of forced exile. Despite this they returned and were reborn. For us right now the most important thing is not to lose these civic impulses that we left behind. Not to lose our ties. We can not allow for a great chasm to be formed between the emigration and the people left back home.
Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya frequently schedules remote meetings with people in Belarus to stay in touch. Franak Viačorka thinks highly of these meetings as he sees that Belarusians who have remained in Belarus do not lose their spirit and will to fight.
“There is more frustration among the emigres”, adds Viačorka. “People often become hopeless. They have lost their home and country, and life abroad is not always rosy. Ihar, whom I met at the festival, confirms this. He hails from Minsk but has lived for a few years in Poznań. He came to Tutaka to meet up with a larger Belarusian crowd.
“I wanted to see people from other cities, not only in Poland, but in Lithuania and elsewhere. People that I could meet online at most”, he says when I ask him what his expectations from this festival are.
“Do you miss being around people from your milieu?”, I ask him.
“Not really, it’s not about people even. I mostly miss Minsk and my trodden paths, my country.”, he replies.
His longing for home does not collide with the fact that he likes living in Poland. He treats it like a challenge that forces him to develop. In a new country you need to learn new things. In Belarus he worked with civic projects, while in Poland he is busy with educational initiatives for the Belarusian community.
“My wife works in the IT business”, he says when asked about the circumstances of their departure from Belarus. “Her employer offered to relocate and move abroad. It is easier to leave once at least one of us has guarantees of work, so we took this opportunity. It was a good decision, as just a few weeks after we left the police visited my organization. Returning to Belarus?” – Ihar repeats my question if they would return if the political situation changed.
“It is becoming more difficult with every year”, he admits. “The kids go to school here, they have learned the language. They don’t even know how to write Cyrillic. There are still very few options available for Belarusian education of the children of migrants. And another change would involve more stress seeing they have lived through us moving to Poland.”
Ihar does not hide the fact that it would have been easier if they could travel freely to Belarus. “I have a grandfather there, I have friends. This hurts the most. If Belarus was democratic then living in Poland would not be an issue at all. We would have visited our loved ones and crossing the border would only take a moment instead of 30-40 hours.”
It would also not involve being taken into custody. It would seem that the repression that followed the 2020 protests in reaction to the stolen election by Lukashenka would slow down with time. But the Belarusian regime is unforgiving and vengeful. The infamous officers of the GUBOPiK (Main Directorate for Combating Organized Crime and Corruption of the MVD of the Republic of Belarus) scour through the internet to find even the smallest of criticisms towards Alyaksandr Lukashenka and his policies. The hunt for participants in the large marches that took place in August 2020, as well as smaller and larger protests that continued in Belarus throughout the fall, is still ongoing. The documentary film Chronicle of the Present (Belarusian: Хроніка сучаснасці, lit. Dabarties kronikos), devoted to those events, was widely publicized, and published by the Lithuanian portal Delfi in the summer of 2023. The producers did not blur the faces of the demonstrators, which alarmed the Belarusian opposition. The authors did remove the film, but what good did it do if it appeared on the official profile of the Belarusian law enforcement agencies a moment later? The services wanted to brag in this way that they had managed to download the film and no one who recognized themselves in it could feel safe.
“But we will return”, Ihar adds towards the end. “We plan to return of our retirement or when the kids grow up. We will return to our apartment in Minsk, which is now empty. Unless they confiscate it.”

A protest in Kyiv in August 2020. Photo: Shutterstock
Unfortunately, the Belarusian authorities might confiscate it, like they have done with the property of other “enemies of the state”. Lukashenka does not hide that he sees the emigrants, especially the political ones, as traitors. Between August and September of 2023, the regime introduced new laws that made the power of attorney issued abroad invalid. This cuts the emigres off from being able to manage the property back home. The only way to do so would be to return to Belarus. Meaning a risk of arrest, being put on trial and a receiving a lengthy prison sentence. There are officers waiting on the border ready to interrogate. They go through phones and check for Belarusian national symbols on clothes and jewellery. They question why you left and why you are returning. Where you work, friends or Belarusian organizations abroad.
This is why Belarusians that plan to visit back home prepare for it weeks in advance. They clean out their social media, sometimes deleting their profiles, search history, archived conversations in online communication apps and photos from their gallery. For it to go easier and quicker they get themselves a new phone. They check if their surname is possible to find through a google search in an unfavourable context as viewed from Belarus. Additionally, they try not to tell anyone about their travel plans. They hope that if they are extremely cautious, they might enter Belarus without any larger problems and then leave it safely.
Nasta has been living in Warsaw for a few months. She is convinced she would not be able to return. She was arrested twice in connection to her participation in protests in 2020 and 2021. She received a fine the first time, but the next time she spent 15 days in custody. When we take into consideration there are some 1,500 political prisoners sitting in Belarusian jails it can be said that she was lucky.
“During one of the interrogations I realized I don’t want to go through this again. When they released me, I left at once”, she reminisces.
She arrived in Georgia before going to Warsaw. But she would return to Belarus at once if she only could. She nods when I ask if she misses it.
“Very much”, she replies. There is a deep sorrow detectable in her voice. “Most of all I miss my parents, because I don’t have that many friends left there. Being apart from my parents is a large and painful wound. Especially when my brother is here with his family in Warsaw. And they are left there alone.
Nasta cannot visit them as there is a high likelihood she would be arrested upon return to Belarus. Her parents do not have a Schengen visa, which has become ever so difficult to attain for Belarusians after the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
“We saw each other once”, Nasta sighs. “We flew to Tbilisi. It is the only way to meet safely. My parents are over 70. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t worry about what would happen if something befell them. What if they get ill, or something worse. Would I go to them and risk my freedom?”
Most young Belarusians I met in Vilnius and Warsaw in 2021 that had just left the country were convinced that their emigration was a short-term necessity. The struggle against the regime would end in a success any day soon and they would be able to return to continue their activities and work, building the country again. The passing time has brutally verified these hopes as the war against Ukraine has sucked Belarus even deeper into the Russian designs. Therefore, there is no choice. One must settle abroad, find a place to live permanently, look for employment that will keep you afloat and learn the language. Not everyone is able to handle this change. Even when the migration is not forced, but desired, a period of a lower mood eventually ensues called the emigre depression. The physical change of location carries with it a change of future plans and expectations.
“I try to leave behind this hope that everything will change quickly”, Nasta says. “But at the same time, I don’t want to fall into despair that I will never return back home. I look for balance. We Belarusians have learnt to live in the today and tomorrow rather than to think about the day after tomorrow.”
No one really knows how many Belarusians have left the country after 2020. Estimates talk of half a million people. The members of the EU handed out 309,000 first residence permits in 2022. This is a general term for the documents that allows people to stay in the territory of the EU and are issued to individuals for the first time. These are residency permits but also long-term visas regulating employment or education. In 2021, Belarusians received 130,000 such permits. Most of them were issued in Poland over in both 2021 and 2022. Some 300 thousand Belarusians reside in the country.
However, Belarusians did not begin to leave their country after the previous presidential elections. The repressions against the opposition were common and large-scale protest took place in Minsk even in 2010. Every time the opposition confronted the authorities its representatives and supporters were forced to leave the country. Tens of thousands of people have probably done so during the long rule of the Lukashenka regime.
The specificity of the Belarusian emigration after 2020 is not only its scope but also in quality. Just after the elections, Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, who according to public data beat Alyaksandr Lukashenka and should have been elected president, was forced to leave the country. She was received by Lithuania which allowed for her to continue her political activities. For most Belarusians with democratic values Tsikhanouskaya is the de-facto president, albeit in exile.
“Thanks to Sviatlana Tskihanouskaya we gained subjectivity”, explains Franak Viačorka in a conversation ahead of a concert at the Tutaka festival. “Thanks to the structures that have emerged around her, we have managed to sustain the unity of the democratic forces. We have retained our national subjectivity and moral sovereignty.”
The structures Viačorka mentions is the Coordination Council that was formed shortly after the election and the Transitional Cabinet created in 2022. Both these organs work towards the safe and successful transition of power in Belarus. After all, the ideal script would be one where the regime, with Lukashenka or without him, agrees to negotiations and transfers power to representatives of the opposition. It would in turn organize fair elections and create new state institutions.

Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya attends a protest in Warsaw on June 3rd 2021. Photo: Shutterstock
While we discuss with Franak Viačorka, Sviatlana Tskihanouskaya walks among the participants of the festival in the lovely Boryk. She is constantly stopped but shows angelic patience. She exchanges a few words and takes photo requests. There is also an open discussion with her scheduled in the program. Anyone can ask her a question. The only problem is the amount of people and the lack of a microphone. Not every opponent of Lukashenka recognizes her as the president and leader of the Belarusian democratic forces. As any politician she has opponents not only on the other side of the barricade but among oppositionists. In the comments on the profile of the festival on Telegram I can read how she is a traitor, how it is a scandal she was invited and so on. But these voices are in a minority. Tskihanouskaya has a democratic mandate that lends her legitimacy as the leader of the anti-Lukashenka opposition. This is why she is recognized and received by the governments of other countries and able to represent the interests of Belarus and its nation. The regime has not represented it for a long time.
During the open discussion a difficult topic appears. Tskihanouskaya says that many treat her as the caretaker of the Belarusian emigration. Someone that will help them settle abroad. They expect that she will fix resident permits and get through the red tape they face in Poland and Lithuania as an example. Meanwhile, she tries to act more broadly not only for those who left but primarily for those who stayed. Especially that many, like her husband Siarhiej, are imprisoned.
In her words one can sense that this demanding attitude is annoying and that she expects that her compatriots, who like her are forced to live abroad, would be more independent.
This does not mean that she and the Unified Transitional Cabinet ignores the problems of the emigrants. In the beginning of August, they presented a concept for a passport for the New Belarus. It is supposed to be a full-fledged identity document issued abroad to Belarusians that for various reasons have no document. The mission of the Transitional Cabinet is now to convince as many countries as possible, so it is recognized. This project has faced much controversy. The online crowd studied through its rich symbolism and found a small but serious issue.
On one of the pages of the document there is a watermark that can only be seen under ultraviolet light. It depicts the outline of Marc Chagall’s famous painting Over Town, another example of Belarusian culture connected to a single place. In the painting a pair of lovers soar above the houses of the hometown of the painter – Vitebsk. At the very bottom of the painting there is average-looking fence with a small person squatting with his pants pulled down. In Belarusian he is called sierun. This character was missing in the depiction featured in the document, which created an uproar.
A month had not even passed when the jokes from the passport of New Belarus were over. Lukashenka finally made good on his threats towards the Belarusian emigrants. The new laws that were adopted by the Belarusian authorities do not allow its citizens to receive or renew passports abroad in consulates. This means that there is only one way to do so, namely travel to Belarus. This sounds like a trap, and while there will be desperate individuals, most people will not want to risk being stopped at the border.
Without a valid passport abroad, Belarusian citizens will also have problems with visas and residency permits, travels and driving licenses. The passport of New Belarus will become a last resort. That is why Tskihanouskaya has promised that work on the project will speed up. Especially that there is another looming threat from Lukashenka on the horizon – stripping citizenships from people the regime deems as enemies.
“Conversations with friends who also find themselves abroad always sound the same. Do you have a resident permit yet? Are you waiting? How long is it valid? Are you staying in Poland or Lithuania, or are you going further west?”, says Ola, whose name I have changed as she is among those who wish to visit family in Belarus. “We are all fixated on documents and people are split between those with relaxed buttocks and those who still tighten them.”
In such conditions, as she admits, activity related to preserving the language or culture is a luxury for many people. She herself works in an industry that she calls saving Belarusian culture, but sometimes she has had enough. She would like to get out of this treadmill, in which there is a constant fight for Belarusianness, and simply, in a relaxed way, without any high-flown slogans or ideas, do what she likes. Cinema, music. For now, however, she sees no way out.
“I frequent Belarusian events as I don’t want to be completely assimilated”, Ola says. “Every attempt to integrate our community is a good initiative. If we don’t do anything now, then in three years time we’ll have nothing. Not even these drunken songs”.
Next to the place we are talking a group of men, some of them recognizable activists, drink whiskey and sing Belarusian patriotic songs. We stop our conversation in order to listen to the anthem Pahonia. When the men are done singing, they shout Žyvie Bielaruś! Ola automatically replies Žyvie. Then she continues speaking and her story begins to paint a picture of anxiety. She likes the festival, but it is so close to the border, everyone is gathered at the same place, one rocket would be enough, there is a war after all, and rockets fly on Ukrainian cities from Belarusian territories. All of this reminds her of the Kalinowski Uprising, known in Poland as the January Uprising. Kalinowski was born not far from Gródek after all, in nearby Mostowlany. On the Polish side of the border.

Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya visiting Wrocław on January 10th 2023. Photo: Shutterstock
Saving Belarusian culture from being “fully assimilated” not only keeps Ola awake at night. Another such person is Pavel Liber, known as the creator of the digital project New Belarus. I speak to him on the phone trying to find out more about this project, whom and what it will serve. Maybe this is the virtual Belarus so many want, separated from the Belarusian state?
“New Belarus is not only an app”, Liber explains calmly. “It is an entire ecosystem made up of various digital products we have created since 2020. Each of them is designed to help the Belarusian society in one way or another.
The platform has a socio-cultural hub that allows for the exchange of ideas and initiatives, information about events. But there is also free legal advice and even medical consultations. There are civic projects, because the creator of the platform would like it to be a kind of training for Belarusian society and a tool that will help build a civil society independently of the state. But only to transplant it back to Belarus after the fall of the regime.
“We are constructing a ecosystem that declares it is irrelevant where a Belarusian currently finds themselves, at home or abroad. Everyone is invited to build this community and work together in this digital space”.
The emigration has spread across different countries, so it needs such a tool, but as it turns out, some services have more users from Belarus. As Pavel Liber explains to me, this is due to the fact that the physical space for their activity has been completely closed off, leaving only the digital space. When I ask about user security, Pavel replies that it is ensured by blockchain. Applications and services do not store user data. At the time of our conversation, in the late summer of 2023, 50 thousand people used the services of New Belarus.
Pavel Liber believes that these digital tools could aid political and social processes after his platform Golos had a key role during the 2020 elections. The fear of election rigging was natural so a system was created in Belarus where the users could send in their ballots with a designated candidate, while members of electoral commissions could send in their protocols. This is how we know that Sviatlana Tskihanouskaya actually won the presidential elections and how we saw the scale of the election rigging by Lukashenka who gave himself 80 per cent of the vote.
In order to keep himself and the apps he created safe, Pavel Liber left Belarus even before the election took place. As soon as the authorities became interested in him. He lives in Vilnius and does not hide that life as a migrant is not sweet.
“My departure was forced because of the circumstances, so I keep treating my emigration as a temporary situation. This is why I am developing projects that aim to support the Belarusian society”.
I ask if he takes into consideration that it might be difficult to return home in the short-term
“I take into consideration a longer perspective with regards to planning – like 10-15 years”, he says. “If Belarus is swallowed by Russia, Belarusians abroad will begin to assimilate, become Poles and Lithuanians. Nothing will remain. There are many examples of nations and societies that have just vanished. New Belarus is one of those tools that should counter this. Just like Jews we must retain our nation in order to later build a country.
Three years after the unfinished peaceful revolution that was unsuccessful in toppling the Lukashenka regime Belarusians dispersed abroad still cannot find an ideal “here”. However, they are interconnected by the notion that they must cherish the relations with “there”, with Belarus in its borders, with the people who remain. At the same time, they need to shoulder the responsibility of safeguarding the language and culture, including the culture of civic responsibility, so they can return with something. Be it two, five or 15 years from now.
We sit on the grass with Ola drinking beers and observing the people participating in the different festival activities. She is reminded of a visit to Strasbourg.
“I was walking through the centre, and I saw a Kurdish festival. I thought to my self how messed up their situation is.
This article was first published in Polish by NEW.org.pl
Paulina Siegień is an ethnographer, Russia expert and journalist. She is an editor at NEW and contributes to Newsweek and Krytyka Polityczna. She has won the Conrad Prize and been nominated for the Ambasador Nowej Europy Prize for her book Miasto Bajka. Wiele historii Kaliningradu.
“We suport the Belarusian Awakening’24” is a project co-financed by Solidarity Fund PL within the framework of Polish development cooperation of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Poland in the amount of PLN 230,000.
This publication expresses the views of the author only and cannot be identified with the official position of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Poland.
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