Ales Belyatsky: Lukashenko Only Understands The Language Of Force

• 31.10.2026, 14:11

A Nobel Peace Prize laureate discusses the rules for engaging with dictatorships and changes in Belarusian society.

The editor of the Belarusian Decoder Ingo Petz spoke with Ales Bialiatski about his time in prison, the rules for engaging with dictatorships and the release of political prisoners, as well as how his views on freedom and the challenges facing democracy.

“Ales Beliatski laughs a lot and heartily; the conversation is frequently punctuated by his subtle irony. If you think about what gave this Belarusian human rights activist the strength to endure seven and a half years in prison without losing hope, it was his sense of humor.

He is 64 years old and has dedicated his life to human rights and the struggle for an independent and democratic Belarus. In 1996, he founded the “Viasna” Center, which documents human rights violations, analyzes repression, and assists victims of political persecution. “He paid a high price for this work,” the publication writes.

From 2011 to 2014, the Lukashenko regime imprisoned him, and did so again in 2021. He was released at the end of 2025 thanks to negotiations between the Minsk authorities and the Trump administration. Since then, he has continued his work from Norway. During his second stint in prison, Belyatsky was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

— You spent more than seven years in Belarusian prisons and were released in December 2025. When did you first feel truly free?

— That’s a simple yet complex question. I’m immediately transported back to that day. It began very early, around four in the morning. They woke us up in the middle of the night. After a search, they took all my papers. I’d written two books in prison—they took those, too. They took my letters, everything I had. Then they led me out of the prison complex.

I already realized this was some kind of transfer. But where to? To another prison, to a pretrial detention center—maybe a new criminal case? We knew from official reports that the U.S. Special Representative John Cole was planning to visit Belarus, but we didn’t know exactly when. So I took everything I could with me: food, clothes. I thought that maybe they were just transferring me to another location.

They put me in a car without license plates. There were three people in plain clothes inside. It wasn’t clear who they were—security service agents or someone else. We drove toward Minsk. When we bypassed Minsk and continued toward the border, it became clear that something unusual was happening.

At the border, we waited for other cars to arrive. Each one had a single prisoner. Then they transferred us to a minibus and, along with a convoy of diplomats, transported us across the Belarusian-Lithuanian border. There were ten people in my group, and a total of 123 people were released. The others were taken through Ukraine.

And when John Cole got on the bus and said, “You are free,” I still didn’t feel free. We got off the bus, and the diplomats were standing there, applauding us. But I didn’t feel that inner sense of freedom.

The next day, I woke up in Vilnius. My wife had flown in from Oslo that night. It was our second reunion in four and a half years. In the morning, I went out onto the street to head to the “Viasna” office. Everything was covered in fresh snow; all around was silence. And it was then, as I was walking through Vilnius, that I felt: I am free.

Prison doesn’t let a person go in an instant. Prison habits, phobias, and fears remain. I still have dreams about prison—that I’m back there, solving some problems, trying to protect myself from something. Prison stays with a person for a long time.

— Has your understanding of freedom changed over the years you’ve been incarcerated? Or, on the contrary, has it become simpler and more concrete?

— Once, back in school, we watched a movie called “The Sweet Word—Freedom.” Back then, it was just a beautiful expression. But then I experienced firsthand what it means to be released from prison and suddenly realize that you can decide for yourself what to do, where to go, and who to talk to.

In general, I suppose you only truly understand freedom after you’ve experienced the absence of it. Prison is the most extreme example. In a Belarusian prison, they don’t just deprive you of your freedom. There, they constantly try to crush you as a person.

You’re under constant surveillance, under psychological pressure, and you face provocations and inhumane treatment. You have to constantly respond to challenges, resist, and try to preserve your sense of self and your dignity. This struggle goes on practically every day.

In my prison colony, there were up to fifty political prisoners per thousand inmates. We were deliberately scattered across different work units. But we found ways to communicate secretly—in the dining hall, at work, in the hospital, wherever there were no security cameras. We helped each other however we could. We were often punished for having contact with other political prisoners.

This is a system that took shape back in the Stalinist era. Over the course of a hundred years, it has been modernized, but the basic principles of human oppression have remained.

— What shaped your understanding of freedom before prison?

— In the late 1980s and early 1990s, we truly felt the dawn of freedom. Belarus became independent. State democratic institutions began to take shape, and nongovernmental organizations, independent journalism, and free labor unions flourished. It was a difficult time financially—we lived in poverty—but we had the feeling that a bright future lay ahead of us.

We must not forget the immense assistance that various German nongovernmental organizations provided to Belarusians. Every year, tens of thousands of children from radiation-contaminated areas traveled to Germany for recuperation.

Back then, we were not much different from the Lithuanians, Poles, or Ukrainians. Everyone was at roughly the same level of economic development. And then the space for freedom in Belarus began to gradually shrink.

— When did you feel that this shrinkage was becoming irreversible?

— After Lukashenko came to power and amended the constitution to suit himself. He was, by the way, elected in relatively democratic elections—he was Belarus’s first president. But very quickly, he began dismantling democratic institutions.

First, the scope for political parties to operate was curtailed, then that of civil society organizations, labor unions, and the independent press. The space for freedom kept shrinking until it reached a critical level.

The 2020 crisis brought the issue to a head. A huge portion of society took to the streets—hundreds of thousands, totaling up to a million people at any given time, participated in the protests. Above all, they demanded fair elections and democratic change in the country. The most popular slogan was “Lukashenko, step down!”


It was a peaceful revolution. People wanted to change the government through democratic means. At the same time, they wanted a return to their national roots. The Soviet regime had carried out Russification, and Lukashenko continued many of these processes. The destruction of Belarusian statehood, culture, and identity continued.

Lukashenko lost the election, but he decided to stay in power at any cost. He chose the path of mass repression, violence, and the use of force to hold on to power.

— You first faced the threat of prison back in the Soviet era. In 1982, when you were twenty years old, you joined an underground anti-Soviet group. Why did you take such a risk?

— I understood that this was a very serious step. In the Soviet Union, there was the powerful KGB, there was the Communist Party, and the state completely controlled society. I was well aware that the struggle against authoritarianism meant the risk of prison. The only thing we could pit against that blind force was our convictions.

But even back then, I had a strong sense that Soviet rule was inhumane. It destroys the history and culture of different peoples, turning everyone into a single mass—the Soviet people. I didn’t want Belarus to disappear, or for Belarusians to disappear as a people. That was the main reason that drove me.

When I was offered the chance to join an underground group, I understood that this was the Rubicon. If I crossed it, it would be hard to turn back. But I had the feeling that I was joining something big and real. Since then, I haven’t regretted a single minute of the choice I made.

We tried to find legal ways to operate. We established youth and cultural organizations. In 1986, we founded “Tuteyshy,” an association of young writers affiliated with the Belarusian Writers’ Union.

In 1987, an alliance of youth organizations emerged, this time with political points in its platform: Belarusian independence, a multiparty system and political pluralism, independent trade unions, the revival of Belarusian culture and language, and our own army, border service, and postal service.

We maintained ties with democratic youth organizations in Ukraine, Lithuania, and Latvia that thought and acted just as we did.

— After the collapse of the Soviet Union, you continued this work in an independent Belarus. But prison once again became a real possibility.

— Yes. I was detained and arrested many times. In 1990, there was a criminal case following one of the anti-Soviet demonstrations. Then, in 2003, the “Viasna” Human Rights Center had its registration revoked.

My younger colleagues were at a loss back then: what are we supposed to do without registration? I said: “Guys, we worked underground in the 1980s, and we didn’t need registration then. Let’s do the same.” And we continued our work.

Later, the authorities introduced criminal liability for activities carried out on behalf of an unregistered organization. Several young people were convicted. At that time, the authorities were afraid to touch us, since “Viasna” had already gained notoriety and credibility.

But after the 2010 elections, I was arrested. I was released in 2014. In 2015, other political prisoners were released. That marked the beginning of a period of relative détente.

Today, looking back, we realize that these were merely different stages of a single process.

— So the repression after 2020 didn’t just come out of nowhere?

— Of course not. The repressive apparatus has existed for a long time. It’s just that it was used with varying intensity during different periods.

Before 2020, Lukashenko had spent several years cultivating the image of a peace-loving ruler, a sort of “father of the nation.” But when millions of Belarusians demanded change, the masks came off, and a period of brutality and violence began.

He could have avoided mass repression, but he had burned his bridges. As a result, protesters were killed, and tens of thousands of Belarusians endured torture, detention, and imprisonment. Hundreds of thousands were forced to leave Belarus. Belarusian society has changed significantly over the past quarter-century, but Lukashenko’s views have remained exactly the same.

— In 2020, you realized that you yourselves could end up in prison. Why didn’t you leave after all?

— We were well aware that we were at risk. We were gathering information on human rights violations, documenting torture, and interviewing hundreds of people. Mass detentions and arrests continued constantly after the election.

Part of our organization moved to Vilnius. But personally, I felt I had to stay in Belarus. People were resisting the dictatorship and needed our help. I understood that my arrest would be yet another example of the authorities’ lawlessness.

We had the opportunity to leave. But we stayed.

In the end, my colleagues and I were imprisoned. My sentence stretched out to four and a half years.

— At some point, especially after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began, did you ever feel that your struggle had become practically hopeless?

— Of course, there were very difficult moments. When the war began, I was in solitary confinement at the Minsk pretrial detention center. Belarus had effectively turned into an aggressor state, an ally of Russia.

The plight of Belarusian political prisoners took a back seat. Belarus was no longer the focus of international attention because a major war had begun. Our contact with the outside world had practically disappeared. We received very few letters. We were held like prisoners of war.

— How were you treated in prison?

— Political prisoners were forced to work, humiliated, and subjected to immense moral and psychological pressure. Medical care was very poor. Some people died in prison. I wasn’t treated properly either, even though I’m no longer a young man and had health problems.

When you still have ten years left on your sentence, you realize that you might never see the very thing for which you began this struggle. But there was nowhere to retreat.

— Have you ever doubted whether you were on the right path during moments of weakness?

— No. Because for me, defending human rights isn’t just a hobby or a job. It’s my life. You can live your life in different ways. For me, it was important to see Belarus as a democratic, independent, European country. And I did everything I could to make that happen.

My mission isn’t over yet. After I became a Nobel Peace Prize laureate, I took on additional responsibilities. Now more than ever, I can’t just lie on the couch and watch TV. I established the Ales Bialiatski Foundation, registered it in Warsaw, and our main goal is to raise issues related to the preservation and advancement of human rights and to promote peacemaking in Eastern Europe—and indeed, throughout the world. In recent years, the world has become more fragile and requires more active protection.

I am confident that what we have done has not been in vain. These are the right and important things to do. They will remain after we are gone for the next generation.

— There is currently a dialogue between the Trump administration and Lukashenko, which has resulted in the release of political prisoners. What is your view on this pragmatic approach?

— I view this first and foremost as a negotiating strategy: people are released in exchange for certain economic or political concessions.

Thanks to this, people are set free, and I support that. For me, this is first and foremost a humanitarian issue.

But there is a danger: political prisoners could become a constant commodity. Some are released, and then the regime recruits new ones. It turns into an endless cycle.

That’s why we need not only to free people but also to bring an end to the repression. Having known Lukashenko for over thirty years, I’m convinced that, as a dictator, he understands only the language of force.

— But couldn’t negotiations in and of themselves lead to the regime’s legitimization?

— That is precisely why caution is needed here. The release of political prisoners is one thing. The political and economic legitimization of the regime is something else entirely.

I speak with European politicians and tell them: there’s no need to rush to lift sanctions. Because the regime will perceive this as its victory and a sign of Europe’s weakness.

Europe must ask itself: What is Belarus? Is it a European country or not? Do the Belarusian people have the right to be part of the European democratic space?

— You speak of the need to maintain pressure on the regime. But at the same time, are channels of communication with it necessary?

— Negotiations can be useful if they lead to the release of people or the resolution of humanitarian issues. But we must not succumb to illusions.

Lukashenko’s main goal is to remain in power. We cannot trust his promises without concrete actions.

We have already gone through periods of dialogue and a thaw in relations between the regime and the West. And then it all ended in repression again.

That is why we must work first and foremost with democratic forces, support Belarusian civil society, and help preserve Belarusian identity. Otherwise, imperial Russia will come to Belarus.

— Many in the West don’t seem to pay attention to this aspect.

— Of course. This is a matter of civilizational choice. Russia’s war against Ukraine has shown just how acute this issue is for our region.

Ukrainians today are paying a huge price for their choice. They are fighting for the chance to be a European, democratic people and to live in an independent country. Belarusians are also paying a high price. Right now, about a thousand political prisoners are suffering in Lukashenko’s prisons. Millions of people in the country are forced to live in fear.

In Belarus, independent media, civil society organizations, and labor unions have been virtually wiped out. Any initiatives independent of the authorities are suppressed. The country has never seen such a high level of repression since Stalin’s death.

And now another form of repression is emerging—transnational repression. Pressure is being exerted on activists, students, and Belarusians living abroad.

For example, a criminal case was recently reopened against me in Belarus.

— You’ve spent your whole life fighting for democracy. But in Western societies, many take democracy for granted. What would you say to them?

— Democracy and freedom are like air. As long as there’s enough of it, you don’t notice it. When the air starts to run out, you begin to realize what’s happening. But by then, it’s already hard to change anything.

We in Belarus have been through this. In the early 1990s, we had that breath of freedom. Then it began to dwindle. And finally, it practically vanished. It’s not enough to simply value democracy. It must be preserved and nurtured.

If a child isn’t taught from an early age what democracy, human rights, tolerance, and solidarity with others mean—if they aren’t involved in direct action—they may grow up to be someone who doesn’t understand the value of these things.

And then populists and cynics easily seize the initiative. They promise a simple path to solving complex problems. But, as a rule, this is a deception.

— So, does the defense of democracy begin in school?

— It begins with preschool education. With education at all levels.

Today, people are exposed to a vast amount of information—anything and everything. If a person doesn’t know how to evaluate it critically, they become very vulnerable.

Media literacy, the ability to distinguish facts from manipulation, and an understanding of moral values and democratic principles in society—all of this must be cultivated from childhood.

What happens outside of school is also important. It’s important for people to have the opportunity to be socially active, to be included in the life of society, and to be able to come together and help one another.

Democracy doesn’t exist only in parliament. It exists in society.

— You currently live in Norway. Do you think that even long-established democracies should pay closer attention to their own problems?

— Of course. This isn’t just a problem for Belarus. It’s a problem for Norway, Germany, Poland—any democratic country.

You can’t think: “Well, everything’s fine here; democracy is already established, and it’ll always be this way.” Democracy can be lost very quickly.

— But why are you so sure that Belarus will eventually become a democratic country? After everything that’s happened, that sounds rather optimistic.

— Because I see changes taking place within Belarusian society itself.

The year 2020 showed that Belarusians want to live according to democratic principles. Belarus has changed dramatically over the past thirty years. It’s a completely different society now than it was in the 1990s. The older Soviet generation is gradually passing away, and a new generation of young, pro-European people has grown up. Of course, there are different views within this generation as well. But overall, this is a society that wants to build a democratic Belarus.

The main issue today is the international and geopolitical situation. If it weren’t for Putin’s support for Lukashenko, the situation in Belarus would have changed long ago. The imperial, authoritarian regime in Russia remains one of the main factors allowing Lukashenko to retain power. Dictators also band together.

That is why what is happening in Ukraine is so important. If Ukraine can preserve itself as a democratic state, remain independent, and continue on its European path, this will be of immense significance for Belarus as well. We will inevitably join Europe.

— So, does that mean the struggle for democracy in Belarus today is also a struggle to preserve Belarusian identity itself?

— Yes. Democracy, independence, and national identity are very closely intertwined here.

Belarus is a European country. Belarusian society wants the opportunity to develop independently.

Russia contrasts the European path with the concept of the “Russian World,” in which there is no place for Belarusians as a distinct people.

Therefore, it is in the interest of all of Europe to support Belarusian democratic activists, civil society organizations, and cultural initiatives. We ourselves are part of Belarusian society and understand what is happening there. But we need the tools to continue this work.

And this is not just a matter of Europe’s goodwill. There is a moral and political responsibility. Europe is our common home. What happens in any part of Europe concerns us all.