Lukashenko's "mother-in-law" Tried To Destroy The Private Healthcare Sector, But Failed

• 10.09.2026, 8:32

How the era of medical centers began in Belarus.

Private healthcare has long been an integral part of life for Belarusians; visiting “Lode,” “Nordin,” “Ekomedservice,” or another medical center is considered the norm. However, this was not always the case. “Zerkalo” recalled how private healthcare providers first appeared in our country, how much a consultation cost, when such services became accessible to ordinary people, how Lukashenko’s “mother-in-law” tried to destroy private healthcare, and what is happening in this sector today.

From the USSR to “Avicenna” and “Exana”

Before Belarus gained independence, its residents had relied on the Soviet healthcare system for decades. It consisted of two parallel components: institutions under the Ministry of Health, where care was provided based on place of residence, and departmental clinics and hospitals subordinate to other agencies—for example, military hospitals under the Ministry of Defense and clinics attached to large enterprises. State institutions (departmental ones were less affected by this) were characterized by residual funding, an administrative process for approving and spending budgets, and insufficient material and technical resources.

Private healthcare did not exist in the USSR, and the latest technologies were available only to the Party elite. For example, the USSR’s first CT scanner began operating in 1978 at the Central Clinical Hospital in Kuntsevo (then a suburb of Moscow), which served government officials (it was nicknamed “Kremlevka”). In ordinary clinics in major Russian cities, such machines did not appear until the early 1990s. The situation was likely no different in Belarus.

Toward the end of the Soviet era, institutions began to emerge that operated on a self-financing basis—that is, they were self-sustaining—and charged fees for services. For example, the 9th Dental Clinic in Minsk, which opened in 1982, became one such facility. But this was a rarity; in fact, there was no real alternative to free state healthcare.

The collapse of the communist system and the declaration of Belarus’s independence gave the green light to business. Private clinics began to appear one after another. The first—as early as 1990, before the formal end of the USSR—was the “Avicenna” clinic. In 1992, “Lode” and “Exana” opened, in 1993—“Paracelsus” and “Mikosh,” in 1994—“Santana” and “Polstar,” and in 1995—“Ecomedservice.” This list includes the facilities that are still in operation today (many more medical centers opened back then, but only a few have managed to stay afloat).

They all started out under rather modest conditions. “Exana” initially had only three offices at 28a Pushkin Avenue, while “Lode” had just one at 17 Makaenka Street. “EcomedService” didn’t even start out as a clinic: physicist Vladimir Koyava, an employee of the Research Institute of Applied Physical Problems at Belarusian State University, founded a Belarusian-American company of the same name in 1991 to distribute medical supplies and only later invested in a medical center.

The “Lode” Breakthrough

The prime example of success was “Lode.” It was founded by Vladimir Gorbachev—a doctor and member of a well-known medical family in Belarus. His father, cardiologist Vladimir Gorbachev Sr., headed the Department of Cardiology at the Institute for the Advanced Training of Physicians (now the Belarusian Medical Academy of Postgraduate Education) for over 20 years. Evgeny Gorbachev’s mother served as Minsk’s chief pediatrician for many years. Their son, who, in addition to his medical degree, had pursued but not completed a technical education, was considering opening a car repair shop. He already had management experience: Gorbachev Jr. had worked as deputy director for medical services at the “Ozerny” sanatorium in the Grodno region.

However, his father convinced Vladimir to open a medical professorial and consultative center. He also suggested naming it after his mother—Wanda Lode. The future center began with a single rented office in the capital’s mud therapy clinic. His father’s experience and connections helped attract highly qualified specialists. In 1993, the center hired its first general practitioner. In 1995, the center rented several dozen square meters of space to house the administration, consultation, and dental offices. By 1997, the company had already leased spaces in various parts of the city and purchased its own building on Pritytskogo Street. In 1999, the company employed more than 300 people. In 2000, a branch opened in Brest.

But others were also eager to enter the business. A little earlier, in 1999, “Novoe Zrenie” appeared, which started out in rented space at the Minsk Tractor Plant’s polyclinic. Then “Anusan” (now “Kravira,” 2000), “Embryo,” and “Eva” (2001) entered the market.

This was only the beginning; it would take several more years for the private healthcare sector to flourish. “In 2001, we were entering the ‘embryonic stage’ of the market, but competition was already there. There were leading private medical centers with experience and a strong reputation. There were also private practices. I can’t say the market was fully formed, but it began to develop very rapidly from there,” said Larisa Pekurova, founder of the “Eva” women’s health clinic.

The reason the market was “in its infancy” was, first and foremost, money—or, more precisely, the lack thereof among the majority of the population. In 2001, the cost of a consultation at “Lode” was about $8, while the minimum wage in the country was no more than $6.40. The average salary for teachers—even after a significant raise—was $20–25, and in the industrial sector, it was $63. And only 22.2% of private business owners, 4.2% of blue-collar workers, and 2% of white-collar workers had an average income above $120 that year.

Under such conditions, it is obvious that private medical centers were accessible only to a narrow group of the wealthiest Belarusians, but not to ordinary people with average wages. For example, in the second half of the 1990s, up to half of the services provided by “Ekomedservice” were rendered to corporate clients.

The Struggle of Lukashenko’s “Mother-in-Law”

Nevertheless, the standard of living for Belarusians gradually rose, and with it, the demand for private providers. The authorities saw them as competitors and decided to drive them out of business.

This happened in 2002. As early as the beginning of that year, officials demanded that state medical institutions increase their revenue by renting out vacant premises, and private medical centers paid between 1,000 and 6,000 dollars a month for them. But by spring, Lukashenko unexpectedly ordered the tenants to be evicted, and in late April, he asked Health Minister Vladislav Ostapenko how many private entities he had expelled. The minister was unable to answer and was dismissed from his post, even though he had taken the helm of the ministry only half a year earlier. The decree on his dismissal cited “serious derelictions of duty, manifested in the improper performance of official duties” as the grounds for his dismissal.

Lukashenko appointed Lyudmila Postoyalko as the new Minister of Health; she had served as deputy minister for only half a year and, prior to that, worked as chief physician at the Brest Regional Children’s Hospital. Postoyalko was no random choice; she was, in fact, Lukashenko’s mother-in-law—the mother of Irina Abelskaya, who had served as the politician’s personal physician since 1994 and had become extremely close to him, and in 2004 gave birth to his son Nikolai Lukashenko.

Just one week after Postoyalko’s appointment, the Minsk City Executive Committee and the regional executive committees issued decisions to terminate all business relations between state medical institutions and commercial entities. Officials were given until July 1 to “evict” private providers. And two days before that date, the Council of Ministers adopted regulations on the procedure for providing fee-based medical services in state institutions, and a program was widely launched in Minsk to provide such services to the public in polyclinics and hospitals. Thus, the removal of private providers was not accidental but clearly intentional: the authorities wanted to redirect the financial flows from fee-based healthcare toward themselves.

Like many initiatives by Belarusian officials directed against the private sector, this idea failed. Moreover, it even served as an incentive for large private medical centers to finally construct their own facilities: for example, in 2005, “EkomedService” and the newly opened “Nordin” opened their doors. New players also entered the market, such as the “Family and Health” medical center (2004) in the Gomel region.

In the mid-2000s, the standard of living for Belarusians actually began to improve. “Russia provided endless cheap loans, cheap gas, and cheap oil. Under such favorable conditions, the economy grew and developed. Well, it was a limited form of capitalism—not fully market-based—a sort of ‘nomenklatura capitalism.’ But it was developing. And wages were rising. People were satisfied,” recalled politician Alexander Milinkevich. By the end of the 2000s, the minimum wage had risen to $90. The average wage at its peak (before the 2010 presidential election, when Lukashenko turned on the printing press) was $532. Then came the crisis and a decline in household incomes. But throughout all those years, the cost of a consultation at “Lode,” for example, remained the same—about eight to ten dollars. And now it was affordable for the majority of the population.

So it was the 2000s that marked the period when private medical centers began to actively enter the lives of Belarusians. Private laboratories also appeared—Synlab (2006) and, later, Synevo (2009).

Poshtayko stepped down from her post as minister at the very end of 2005, but for some time afterward, officials continued to follow the previous policy. In January 2006, there were even plans to prohibit doctors from working simultaneously at both public and private medical institutions. However, by that time, Alexander Kosinets had become Deputy Prime Minister for Social Affairs, overseeing the healthcare sector. According to researcher Alexander Feduta, it was thanks to him that the “Postoyalko reforms” were softened and the Belarusian healthcare system was saved.

It is reasonable to assume that this also saved the private healthcare sector. After all, as far back as 2005, the Ministry of Health revoked the licenses of “Nordin” and “EcomedService” (fortunately, they were later able to regain their licenses and continue operating). But as early as 2006, clinics and hospitals in the capital curtailed the program to provide fee-based services to the public, which had been widely rolled out four years earlier. The number of such services was cut in half, and private providers were granted full authority over fee-based childbirth care and abortions, as well as highly specialized diagnostic procedures. Interestingly, these decisions were announced by Dmitry Pinevich, chairman of the Minsk City Executive Committee’s Health Care Committee. Fifteen years later, he would, as minister, be doing the exact opposite.

Moreover, the idea of banning moonlighting was ultimately not implemented. On the contrary, even chief physicians were allowed to work part-time in 2006.

This does not mean that all the difficulties faced by private medical centers were over. For example, they were not granted the right to issue sick leave certificates until February 2016. But the main thing is that the very idea of private medicine as an important segment of the healthcare sector was no longer called into question. Judging by the number of patient visits, its share in the late 2010s was 11.5% (we were unable to find more recent statistics).

Market Realignment

The situation changed dramatically just a few years ago.

In 2021, the private clinic “Mersi” began seeing patients. As the Belarusian Investigative Center later established, its owners were linked to “tobacco king” Alexei Oleksin, known for serving as Lukashenko’s “money man,” and the family of Lukashenko’s eldest son, Viktor Lukashenko.

Very little time had passed when, in late March 2022, a wave of mass arrests of traumatologists and orthopedists swept across the country. In total, several dozen medical professionals were detained at that time, accused of accepting bribes from foreign suppliers for the purchase and installation of imported prosthetics. After that, state hospitals began offering only domestically produced joint replacements.

However, “Merci” turned out to be the only clinic in the country that continued to implant imported, higher-quality joint prostheses. At the same time, such surgeries there began to cost between $6,500 and $8,000—compared to the $3,000–$4,000 previously charged at public hospitals.

Then, in May 2022, an crackdown on private medical centers began. Based on the results of inspections by the Ministry of Health, the Department of Financial Investigations, and other agencies, the medical licenses of ten medical centers were suspended—including “Lode,” “Nordin,” “Clinic A1,” and “Kraviru.”

Various violations were cited as the reason. For example, “Nordin” was allegedly found to have committed violations during orthopedic procedures and to have evaded taxes. At other clinics, officials found expired medications, equipment without maintenance or repair contracts, violations of sanitation and epidemiology regulations, poor record-keeping, and so on. However, as noted by the well-known orthopedic traumatologist Rustam Aizatulin, these violations can be found in virtually any medical facility in the country, including ordinary state hospitals and polyclinics.

Of these ten medical centers, seven were able to regain their licenses and resume operations after several months of forced closure. However, three companies had to shut down permanently: “Clinic A1,” “Doctor Nemo,” and “Hippocrates’ Grandchildren.”



In January 2023, it was “New Vision’s” turn to be inspected. In June, the clinic chain had its license revoked. The company was accused of allegedly submitting forged documents to the Ministry of Health “containing false information about responsible individuals who were not employed by the company,” as well as “regarding premises and medical devices that were registered to a legal entity prior to its establishment and registration.”

The founder of “Novoe Zrenie,” Oleg Kovrigin, speculated that the heads of “Nordina” and “Lode” were forced to pay a bribe in order to retain the right to continue operating. He, however, despite hints to make concessions, refused to do so and lost his brainchild, which constituted a significant part of his business. Kovrigin himself had been living in Vilnius since 2010, where he also opened his own clinic (he moved there after being accused of smuggling equipment, though the criminal case was later dismissed).

Various theories have been put forward regarding the reasons behind this government crackdown on private healthcare. For example, it may have been revenge against medical professionals who resigned from state hospitals after 2020 and were readily hired by private medical centers, or against the private facilities themselves, since some of them provided free treatment to victims of violence by security forces. Another theory is that the authorities once again sought to eliminate competitors to state clinics in the paid healthcare sector in order to increase budget revenues. Supporting the latter theory is the Ministry of Health’s decision, adopted shortly thereafter in the spring of 2023, to ban all private pharmacies with an area of up to 60 square meters (which accounts for the majority of private pharmacies in Belarus) from selling prescription drugs. There’s no other way to describe what happened in 2022–2023 other than a market shake-up.